Dictionary
by Smashed Sunshine
Summary: Things have changed since Hogwarts - love is complicated and work is hard. Fate unfolds, pulling everyone in. What will happen when they confront a destiny that is out of their hands?
1. Prologue: Revelations

**Author's Note: **This story is authored by two writers: Smashed Sunshine and Clara Lou. We hope you enjoy this tail of…well we're not entirely sure about that at the moment. We apologise for any change in styles that offend anyone – they can never be exactly the same! So sit back and read our first baby… And remember that feedback is always a good thing. Especially when this is our first Harry Potter outing together!

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**Disclaimer: **We do not own any of the characters used in this story. No profit is being made. The dictionary quotations used in this story are from 'The Oxford Paperback Dictionary & Thesaurus' – again we do not own.

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**Dictionary**

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**'Revelation _noun_ – ****1: revealing. ****2: knowledge supposedly disclosed by divine or supernatural agency ****3: striking disclosure or realization'**

**Prologue**

**Tuesday 20th October**

**Daily Prophet**

**Defeat of Voldemort by The Boy That Lived Again**

Monday the 19th of October 14:00 hours is a time that will be forever etched into everyone's minds. This now famous battle took place within the shadows of Gordics Hollow where Harry Potter first defeated Voldemort. Both sides lost many people and they shall be mourned (full list of the dead can be found on page 4). Also the once thought deceased Peter Pettigrew was captured thus clearing the now deceased Sirus Black's name (full story on page 5). 

The light side fought bravely and kept the Death eaters at bay, but it all came down to Harry Potter and Voldemort at the end. However Voldemort was not killed by magic alone. Whilst Voldermort fired the killing curse at Potter, Potter aimed a dagger at Voldemort's heart. Potter threw off the killing curse again - a miracle many would say. Or even blind luck. 

The dagger reached its target and stunned Voldemort, at which Potter and his friends all aimed the killing curse. The powerful force of these unforgivable spells impacted greatly upon the Dark Lord, ending his life. It is not known what happened after this – we know only that Dumbledore swears that Voldemort will never return. 

It is up to you to decide what happened on that fateful night, for none of us will ever truly know the extent of what happened. 

For the full story see pages 2 – 6. 

**The _'Prophet'_ would like to apologise to anyone who was distressed by the mention of Voldemort. Mr Harry Potter requested that we include the Dark Lords true name and not call him He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named. We have honoured this request as a mark of respect to him.**

**Tuesday 8th December**

**Shake Up In The Ministry!**

After the scandal of the covering up of Voldemort's return by the Ministry Of Magic, many wizards and witches have had a hard time putting any trust in the centuries old organization.

This has caused cries for the resignation of Cornelius Oswald Fudge as Minister. Fudge has responded for the last few weeks by saying that there was no evidence at the time that Voldemort had returned. This has been slammed by many Wizards and Witches in the Ministry who are faithful followers of Professor Albus Dumbledore – A man once ridiculed for his honest beliefs. 

'He knew exactly what was happening! Dumbledore warned him time and time again. But he was too wrapped up in the notion that Dumbledore wanted his position and did not see the danger right in front of him,' Mr Arthur Weasley told us yesterday.

'His head is too far up his own ass. He thinks that more money you have and if you're a pureblood then you can do no wrong! It's because of this crap that he missed the fact there was Death Eaters right under his nose - many of them from well know rich Pureblood families!' Alastor Moody, a well known Auror, told us.

We will keep you up to date on this story as more information comes our way.

**Saturday 12th December **

**Resignation of Minister - Demand Fulfilled**

At 10:00 hours this morning a board of high-ranking Witches and Wizards demanded Cornelius Fudge's resignation. After a short hearing with all the evidence, a jury of Mr Fudge's peers decided that he should hand his resignation in and not be allowed to hold any high-ranking ministry position.

In an act of mercy by the board, he will only be allowed to hold a low ranking, non-important job for the rest of his life. This has come as a shock to some who believed that Fudge would be booted out altogether. It appears that a high ranking member of the board has taken pity on this fallen man. 

It has still to be decided who will take over as Minister of Magic, but many people are hinting that Albus Dumbledore will take up the position.

**More details on page 5.**

**Wednesday 16th December**

**Weasley for Minister!**

This is the cry going around the offices of the Ministry. After Arthur Weasley's amazing contribution to the now named Order Of The Phoenix and great care of many of the survivors of the battle, he is being tipped to take over the position.

'He doesn't have any prejudice towards Muggleborns. He realises that without new blood out society would have died out long ago,' Amelia Bones, Head of the law enforcement told us.

'Weasley is a family man and that touches something in anyone who has a family. After the dark time we have had, many realise how important family is and what someone who feels the same in charge,' Professor Minerva McGonagall, Professor at Hogwarts told us.

The new Minister of Magic will be revealed on Friday, so we will all need to wait and see. Though with voting continuing to go on, it could be that your vote is vital to this mans election. 

**Friday 18th December**

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**New Minister Revealed**

The new Minister has been revealed and it is Mr Arthur Weasley. 

After glowing recommendations from many of our greatest Witches and Wizards including Albus Dumbledore, Mr Weasley was instated as the Minister of Magic this morning at 11:00 hours.

'I am honoured that it has been decided that I am able to fulfil this position. I promise that I will do my best to live up to everyone's expectation of me,' Mr Arthur Weasley told the Daily Prophet earlier today.

We wish him and his family our best wishes and congratulations!

To read the full, unabridged speech given at the Ministry, turn to page 3.

**P10 – Daily Prophet**

** Monday 27th June**

**Out and About with Lovegood**

**Oliver Wood seen out with mysterious blonde**

Puddlemere United Keeper Oliver Wood has been seen out with a mysterious blonde. A photograph taken by our own photographer, Colin Creevey, shows the couple in a compromising clinch. Could it be possible that the '_Prophets' favourite bachelor is no more?_

They keep to small-unknown establishments and the employees at these places seem to be unwilling to tell us anything about them. But we will find out more readers and let you know.

**New Position for a Weasley**

Seems the Weasley's are moving up in the world. Mr Ronald Weasley, best friend of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger has just been promoted to the Head of Magical Games and Sports. Is it because of who is Father is or does he really deserve it?

Don't worry Sports fans – Mr Weasley will still be bringing you up to date reports on all the latest games exclusively for the _'Prophet'!_

**New Sight on Diagon Alley**

Looks like _'Flourish and Blotts'_ have some competition on its hands - A new shop called _'_Dewpebbles'_ opened just yesterday and already it's drawing in the crowds.'_

Not surprising when you find out that this lovely new shop is owned by the smartest witch to graduate Hogwarts this century. That's right readers! It is owned by Miss Hermione Granger, friend of the infamous Harry Potter. I must say it is a lovely little shop too, with cozy helpful staff, a seating area and you can purchase refreshments there as well.  

All and all a lovely place to spend an afternoon!

To find out more about the new and exciting shops in the area, turn to page 19 for all the latest hotspots.

**Gambol and Japes bought out by mystery buyers.**

Yes you read it right - someone has bought out '_Gambol and Japes'. This shop is a favourite with children of all shapes and sizes, throughout the ages. All we could find out was that whomever bought this store out, also bought all rights to __'Gambol and Japes' products as well._

I will promise to keep you all up to date on these hot topics and more next week readers. 

Luna Lovegood


	2. Chapter One: Life

**Smashed Sunshine's Note: **This is my first chapter. So I am proud to present a love triangle, lesbianism and forbidden love – Enjoy!

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**Dictionary **

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'**Life _noun _(_plural _****lives) – capacity for growth, functional activity, and continual change until death'**

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**Chapter One**

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'Where's the sodding stapler!?' 

Blaise Zabini looked up from where he was sat. His legs were up on the desk top, crossed at the ankle, and he was leaning back in his favourite chair with the Daily Prophet propped up on his knees. An eyebrow arched slightly as he watched his younger co-worker punch her desk angrily. 

'All I want to do is staple the god damn report together, and what happens? Someone goes and hides the sodding stapler! Can no one just leave things where they were for once?' she continued to chunter. 'Why is it always me? Me, me, me, me, me!'

'Modest aren't we?' Blaise teased in mock seriousness. 'Where was it last time you saw it?'

'Here,' she gestured to her desk.

His eyes dropped to the object in question. Virginia Weasley's desk was exactly like her hair was presently. A complete and utter mess with things sticking out of it at all angels. There were mounds of paper, including unopened bills and unclosed cases. Everything from papers to rogue charms could be found somewhere on Ginny's desk. The problem was finding them. A stapler could easily go missing for months before being found – usually by a reluctant Draco who would be so fed up of all the crap, he would simply sweep it all into a bin liner.

'This is your desk we're talking about Weasley,' he said with a smile and looked back down to his paper. 'Maybe it was found by the troll living under mound of crap number three.'

Ginny glared at him from where she was stood. Her fists balled up and planted themselves on her hips, and then she proceeded to take typical female stance. 'I hope you are not suggesting that my desk is a mess?'

Turning a page of his newspaper, Blaise nodded firmly. 

'I'll have you know that I know where everything is on my desk! You name something and I can find it at the drop of a hat. So I know someone has taken the stapler and not that it has simply been misplaced,' she said indignantly. 

'Weasley, you work for the Department of Investigation. Work it out. If you haven't got it, then it has to be either myself or Malfoy. Do you see a stapler on my desk?' he gestured to the organised desk that was rarely used – a fine layer of dust covered the surface. 'No. So it must be Malfoy.'

Her eyes moved across his desk quickly, taking in the lack of objects. 'You know something Zabini? We might as well get rid of the desk and get you a footrest for all the good its doing.'

'You just want more space to decorate with your…' he shuddered, 'posters.'

'There is nothing wrong with Dwayne Oarlocks and the Mews,' Ginny pouted, looking up at the picture of the band in question beaming down at her. 'I think they add a sparkle to the room.'

'Only in your mind Weasley. For everyone else their screaming banshees with bad hair.' He turned another page and looked at the housing prices. 'Then again I'm sure that's an insult to banshees.'

She rolled her eyes. 'You're just bitter. Anyway, Malfoy said we could do what we liked with our section of the office.'

'Yeah well he would.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' her eyes narrowed slightly.

'Nothing. I thought you were going to look on Draco's desk for the stapler?'

From where he sat he could feel her hesitation. Everyone knew that Malfoy's desk was out of bounds because that's the way he liked it. Blaise didn't particularly care about this unspoken law, but Ginny didn't seem able to bring herself to break it. For all their arguing and rivalry, neither wanted to really upset the other any further then their usual snide remarks.

'Chicken,' Blaise smirked.

'Don't be so immature Zabini!' she berated, her eyes meeting his.

'I dare you to go over there and find the stapler.'

'I refuse to stoop down to your level!'

'I double dare you,' he continued enthusiastically. 'You can't refuse a double dare Weasley.'

Her eyes darted from the desk to him again. Blaise knew she would break – no Weasley could refuse a dare and she was no exception. Something about the danger gave her a thrill. She never said so, but he could tell by the look in her eye. It was sort of wild and unpredictable. That's what he thought had made her join the Ministry. 

Personally he wanted the reputation and the money for an easy life. This way he could have power and be on the good side. There had been a time when he had considered taking the leap out to evil, but it had held no future for him. No, he had decided, he would join the Ministry simply because it had a good pension and dental plan. There was always a future for a bright young Hogwarts student looking for work.

'Okay, but if I get caught or trigger any traps he's set up, then you are taking the blame for it,' she warned with a stealthy smile. 'All the blame.'

Blaise simply nodded and folded the newspaper in half. This was going to be something to watch. His eyes scanned over her body slowly. There was something about the way she moved that enticed him towards her. It was a shame every time he began to enjoy the view she would open her mouth and speak. 

Slowly she moved towards the desk, until she was stood right in front of it. Her nimble fingers reached down and brushed against the mahogany lightly. Slowly she bent forward and allowed her eyes to over look the desk. He could have told her that the stapler wouldn't be on his desk, but it was too much fun winding her up and then letting her go. 

Reaching down she pulled open a drawer. She leaned further forward, allowing him a glimpse down her top. A smile curled his lips as he eyed her cleavage appreciatively. There may be some bad qualities about her, but the good ones certainly outweighed them. Virginia Weasley was a very attractive woman by all standards, and Blaise could easily have watched her all day.

'What are you doing Weasley?' came the cold drawl from the door.

Ginny straightened herself up quickly, but kept her head down. 

'You're back early Malfoy,' Blaise commented, letting his eyes leave Ginny and settle on his blond haired boss. 'How was court?'

'It went in favour of the defendant, as expected,' Draco remarked coolly without taking his eyes off the youngest Weasley. 'So Weasley?'

Blaise smirked and glanced back at Ginny. Her head was now held high and her bid brown eyes directed straight at Draco. Her long, wavy red hair was in disarray giving her a predatory look. Knowing Malfoy as well as he did, he didn't think that there would be much of a fight. All she had to do was batter her eyelashes and she seemed to win him over. The funny thing about it was that neither of them seemed to have noticed this pattern yet. 

He often wondered what it would be like if there were two women in the office and he were the only man. Would they both fight for his attentions, or would it be a cold and loveless work place. Draco would defiantly have made a striking woman, with his blonde hair and sharp blue grey eyes. This thought was quickly shaken off though. It was far too surreal for a Monday morning in the office.

'I was looking for my mouse,' she said firmly.

'Your mouse?'

Ginny frowned slightly as if she was wondering what he was talking about. Suddenly her cheeks went pink as she realised what she'd actually said. 'I mean stapler.'

'And why are you looking for your stapler at my desk?' he continued, arching his eyebrows. 

'Because it's not on mine,' she offered lamely.

'It's my fault Malfoy. I asked her, politely, to go over there and find it so I could staple my report together,' Blaise cut in. 'See I'd just finished it and Ginny was showing me the gossip in the Prophet before she settled down to write hers.'

Ginny scowled at him while he received an approving look from Draco. 'Done on time? Miracles never seem to cease in this office.'

'Indeed,' he said looking back down at the paper. 

'He double dared me,' Ginny said suddenly, pointing a finger accusingly at Blaise. 'I finished the entire report single handily while he sat there drooling over some page three model! All I wanted was the stapler and he doubled dared me to come over here and find it!'

Draco laughed dryly. 'Or maybe they do.'

'So it was his fault!'

'Okay.'

'I couldn't… What did you say?'

'I said its okay,' Draco said looking at her with a touch of amusement.

'You mean you're not going to jump off the deep end and hex me or anything?' she said with a frown. 'Nothing?'

'If you keep asking banal questions I might,' he said placing his briefcase down on his desk. 'See Ginny, we're in an office. And sometimes in these offices work needs to be done. Which means you can go back to your desk and send off your report to Daddy dearest, before sending out a memo to Miss Chang in the Muggle Artefacts Department. I need information on…toasters.'

Ginny nodded a couple of times before moving back over to her own desk and sitting down. Blaise watched her silently. She was always the most attractive when she was silent, he considered. He wished that he had the same affect on her Malfoy did though. At least then he would be able to stun her into silence whenever he felt like it. 

Pulling out his wand, he whispered, 'Accio stapler.'

From the middle of Ginny's desk flew the stapler, straight into his waiting palm. A smile curled the corner of his mouth. 

'I really don't see what all the fuss was about.' 

xXx

Cho snatched the memo from the air and read through it a couple of times. Firstly she noted the scruffy, illegible handwriting. Secondly she wondered what on earth a "Tostr" was. 

'Do you understand this?' she asked her companion. 

'Erm…maybe they miss spelt it.'

Her eyes scanned over it another couple of times and she rolled the word about her mouth. It sounded strangely familiar, but she couldn't for the life of her place it. That was the main problem faced by the Department of Artefacts – magical folk had no idea how to spell out Muggle items. She considered that her job would be so much easier if they sent howlers to her instead. At least that way she could hear what they meant.

'Typical Malfoy this is,' she complained in a honey sweet voice. 'You'd think that the DOI would be capable of researching for themselves.' 

'Oh but he's very busy,' Lavender jumped to his defence. 'You should have seen him in court this morning…'

Rolling her eyes, Cho regarded her younger assistant. It was true that she had only hired Lavender Brown because she was pretty to look at, but somehow she had expected her to have at least a bit more taste. Her hair was long and silky, with flecks of golden brown edging the blonde splendour. She had eyes as blue as crystals and lips that made Cho wish she could just reach out and brush a thumb over them. Her body was to die for – sleek and curvy at the same time. Oh how she would kill to see her with no clothes on.

'…he was so masterful. And then they asked him all these questions about his statement and he just, like, glared at them,' she continued to praise. 'It was so incredibly sexy and you could tell that the judge thought he was a sex god.'

When Cho Chang had left Hogwarts, she had become bored of the simplicity of men. They were easy and self centred – easy targets for her seduction. Soon she began to seek out something more complex then flat plains and hard sticks. She wanted to feel curves beneath her curves and the tickling of long hair brushing against her. One day when sat outside Dino's Den, the local café, she had watched a woman walk by. Instead of the usual surge of jealousy, she had found herself appreciating the woman in a completely new light. Since then she had never considered men again.

'…he ran his hands through his hair and smiled at her cockily. I wonder if he uses conditioner… Oh god, I would love to see him in the shower washing his hair!' Lavender squealed, bringing Cho out of her thoughts.

'As much as I enjoy the sound of your voice darling,' Cho purred quietly. 'I would prefer you shut up and got to work on finding out what a "Tostr" is. I feel that if I hear one more word about how amazing Draco Malfoy is, I might gouge my eyes out with a spoon. Understood?'

Lavender nodded and pretended to zip her lips together. Cho smiled appreciatively at the gesture. 'Thank you.'

She watched as her assistant moved away from her and over to the Muggle computer located at the corner of the office. Sometimes it was easier to research Muggles using their own methods. It had taken her a while to make Lavender understand how to use it, but now she seemed to enjoy using the contraption far more then Cho ever did. Personally she preferred books.

Her eyes darted to the mirror hanging behind the door. A woman with long black hair, slanted eyes, a button nose, elegant cheekbones and pouty red lips stared back at her. Smiling slightly, she dragged a hand through her hair. Even if Lavender didn't want to be seduced by a woman, she would at least appreciate the effort Cho put in to the way she looked. It made life a lot easier to be an attractive, dominating, powerful woman in a role ridiculed by most of the Ministry.

'I'm going out for lunch someone from the Prophet. Weasley's brother…I think you dated him at some point during our time at Hogs. What was his name again…' she pondered aloud. Obviously she knew the name that was on her mind, but it never lost her any points to seem slightly dense in Lavenders eyes. 'Henry… No…'

'Ron?' Lavender offered with a beaming smile that lit up the room. 'He has red hair and freckles. Tall. Bit Lanky.'

'What would I do without you?' Cho asked with a small smile.

A shrug and goodbye later, and she soon found herself strolling down the corridors of the Ministry of Magic. To an outsider it may seem a bit clinical, but for her it was home away from home. She could easily have spent all her time prowling the corridors, watching for prey. Today was a busy day though, and the floors were teaming with people, owls and memo's flying about searching for their targets. It didn't serve to waste time in a place like this.

Having graduated, Cho had found herself at a crossroad, unsure of which way to turn. Should she join her father's company and make him happy, or take her own path and see where it went. She decided on the latter and soon found herself working for museum of Muggle clothing. Her expertise got her noticed by the Ministry, who were looking for someone to fill the shoes of Arthur Weasley – who at the time had been promoted onto the Council at the command of Dumbledore. She had snapped up the offer, finding herself with a comfortable career. 

Now though she was going to have to go and discuss the finer points of charmed rugby balls with Ronald Weasley. Apparently one had made its way onto the pitch when the Chudley Cannons were playing and had wrecked havoc on the game. Ron wanted to write an article on it for the Prophet and hoped that some official Ministry information might help him make it more interesting. 

Cho doubted this very much. 

As she walked, she saw a familiar back which made her lips curl into a smile. Her mind raced to find out what her best friend could possibly be doing here at the Ministry. Maybe she was looking for her? Lurching forward, she pushed her elbows into a couple of people. 'Marietta!' she called out.

The petite strawberry blonde turned slightly, a frown creased her forehead as she searched for the disembodied voice. When Cho managed to gain eye contact, a large grin spread right across her face making her seem much younger then she was. 'Chang!'

The two girls embraced in the middle of the hallway, causing a lot of male eyes to turn upon them. It was well known that Cho wasn't keen on the opposite sex, and they could but hope that she had a girlfriend. Preferably a girlfriend who swung both ways and didn't mind threesomes – they could dream at least.

'What are you doing here? I thought your mum had retired from Department of Magical Transportation?' Cho gushed in one breath. It had been about three months since she'd last saw Marietta Edgecombe and this had been the last place she'd expected to find her. 'Were you looking for me?'

Marietta smiled a patient smile and stepped away from her friends embrace. 'I got sacked from the Wizarding supplies warehouse,' she said in a tired voice. 'They didn't appreciate my contributions.'

'Oh darling,' Cho sympathised. 'You didn't enjoy working there anyway.'

'I know but it's been so hard since mum retired. I can't exactly ask for an allowance anymore and the bills won't pay themselves… So I thought I would come and apply for any jobs going here. I mean you don't seem to mind this…' her nose turned up slightly, '…environment.'

A laugh escaped her lips as she watched her friends' obvious distaste to her working place. Marietta had always been snobbish at school, refusing to hang around with what she considered unsavoury characters. When you looked further though she really was a nice person but someone who could easily get on your nerves. There had been times when a good slap wouldn't have done her any harm – especially when it came to her obsession with money. She couldn't abide those who didn't live up to her economic expectations. 

'You'll love it here once you find your niche in life,' she confided with a sickly sweet tone. 'Believe me when I say there are advantages to working in such a close community of people.'

Marietta smiled slyly. 'I've heard the men around here aren't too bad.'

'It wasn't the men I was thinking of…'

'Whatever floats your boat Chang. I'll stick to the manly variety, thank you very much.'

'You really don't know what you're missing,' she said suggestively. 

They both laughed and it felt as if no time had passes at all – not the eight years they hadn't been school girls discussing crushes and giggling over nothing in particular. It was a drastic change from the cool and collected woman Cho had turned out to be. Time though was nagging at her. There was only so much lateness that could be classed as style, and Ron Weasley didn't seem the type to appreciate that.

'Look Etta, I have to go to a meeting with someone from the prophet. If you finish your interview early though there are plenty of people around that used to go to school when we were there.' 

'Like who?' Marietta asked sceptically as she pushed a short curly strand of reddish blonde hair behind her ear.

'Well there's Draco Malfoy, Ginny Weasley and Blaise Zabini in the DOI…Lavender Brown is my assistant and you can find her just up the corridor and to your left. I think Justin Finch-Fletchley is working in Communications. Oh and Harry Potter is in the Defence section, but I doubt you'll want to see him.'

'He was a horrid boy,' Marietta complained. 'I don't know what you ever saw in him.'

'Maybe it was his feminine ways…' Cho suggested lightly.

Laughter filled the halls once more as two friends were reunited.

xXx

Hard, fast and very hot. Some people thought Oliver Wood was obsessed. He liked to think it was more of an extreme hobby. Some people liked to do it in their spare time, but Oliver liked to do it all the time. At home, at work, in the garden, at the park – anywhere there was enough space. He loved the feeling he got when he mounted equally as much as the rise. Oh and was he good at it – not modesty, but honesty to himself. 

Yes, Oliver Wood could honestly say that he got a kick out of Quidditch. 

He could spend all day, easily spread out in front of his Muggle TV, watching the illegal wizarding sports channel. Flicking from one glorious game to another, he would marvel at its speed and beauty. Then there were the times between when he himself would fly up high. Up on his broom he was invincible, at least that's the way it felt at the time. It didn't matter if he lost, or fell from the broom because he had the memory of that feeling deep within him. 

Maybe that's what had attracted him to her so much. 

It wasn't easy to find someone you connected to and who had all the same ambitions as you. The fact that she was irresistible helped too. Every time he saw her flying round the pitch he got a thrill – the sort that travelled to every part of his body. Some times it would be too much, and he would have to pull his eyes away before he had an accident. He hated and loved that feeling that you couldn't stop yourself. 

Her hair would fly out from behind her, whipping the sky with its golden glory. Slowly she would dip and dive, her eyes forever watching for that flash of wings. Then when the time was right, her body would double over the broom, knuckles white from holding the smooth wood, and she would plummet towards the ground, never allowing her eyes to close against the sting of the wind. He could almost imagine the tingles running through her body as she snatched the snitch from the air, all around her screams of pleasure and pain.

Late at night, this was often the image Oliver would put on slow motion through his head. Of course in his mind she was naked, there were no other team mates and the stands were empty. It was just a show for him. The broom was her prop and she was the main attraction. 

A sigh escaped his lips just thinking of the possibilities.

The problem was though that, as much as a turn on as it was, she played for another team. In fact it was the only real rival Puddlemere United had. If this relationship were ever found out by the fans, or the teams themselves, ruin would certainly follow. She had remarked that it was a bit like Romeo and Juliet. He had replied that they both dies at the end, so he'd rather it was not.

What made their affair even more of a hassle was that damn Colin Creevey and his camera. They'd just been catching a post-game snog, when out of the toilets had come Colin – camera in hand. Snap, snap, and the shot was done and in the newspapers. Granted the guy had given them a break and not revealed the woman's identity to anyone, but now he was being stalked by the press. 

Everywhere he went there was an irritating click and flash of light. His image graced the front page of every newspaper as they tried to figure out who on earth Oliver was dating. It was a wonder they hadn't been caught yet after all the risks they had taken. It was the only way they could be together though, and this strange attraction had turned into more then just a want, but a need too. He could no longer go a week without touching her, and she him. But to come out would ruin both of them and only Quidditch rivalled the way they felt about each other. 

Together the decision had been made that they shouldn't see each other again.

Oliver smiled to himself as he watched the TV screen in front of him. Well, almost not see each other.


	3. Chapter Two: Work

**Smashed Sunshine's Note: **This is the second chapter that I have written due to lack of time on the part of my co-author. The lack of reviews, for good or bad, has not deterred me or Clara Lou and we shall continue to persevere with this story. I don't think I need to warn you about anything in this chapter… It's a little shorter then the last one. So sit back, relax, and enjoy!

**Acknowledgements: **To **caitlin19 **for reviewing, thank you! This one's dedicated to you and everyone else whose love life is a little more then complicated.

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**Dictionary**

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'**Work_ noun – _****1: application of effort to a purpose; use of energy. **2**: task to be undertaken. **3**: thing done or made by work; result of action. **4**: employment, occupation, etc., esp. as means of earning money. ****5: literary or musical composition. ****6: actions or experiences of specified kind.'**

**Chapter Two**

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Mugs lined the draining board in regimented order. At one end were the freshly used ones, coffee grains clinging to the base defying gravities pull. In the middle there were the caked varieties – a dirty brown colour staining the white. At the extreme end though there was mould. It festered like a monster waiting for its prey. No one wanted to touch it or look upon it, so gradually it grew worse, spreading its vileness. Every now and then there would be a cup, boldly supporting the wounded soldiers of the scolding water. They glinted happily in the sunshine as the rays bounced off their curved metallic bodies. Though their feet were cemented to the bottom by caffeine based glue, they were merry and uncaring for the world around them. 

Moving away from the cups and spoons is a deep cliff. Within its metallic walls are plates, bowls, knives, forks – a cacophony of crockery and cutlery. Water cascaded off the sides, pulling away only little bits of muck in its path. Like a fountain it splashed harshly over the ceramic monster of chaos. Looking deeper though, it can be seen that water is pooling up at the bottom as the plug hole becomes blocked with cheese and old bits of pasta. 

Panning out from this scene, the cluttered work tops and overflowing kitchen table come into view. The surface of the latter can't be seen from all the papers and dirty plates lying on the surface. Only a vase of flowers in the centre was the order among the chaos. Elegant carnations added a blush to the otherwise grey kitchen boldly. 

A sigh escaped Ginny's lips as she surveyed the sheer mess that was the kitchen. Why it was that men and women could never live together without there being a world war over who did the washing up? True it had been her idea to have the rota, but she hadn't anticipated a particularly large work load that evening. It was in typical form though that no one else had offered to clean up the mess. In fact it was typical that her flat mate refused to clean up until Ginny did the nights cleaning she'd promised five days ago.

Another sigh escaped. 'Shit.'

She hoisted her files up into her arms more to prevent them slipping away and walked over to the table. Releasing her arms tension, the files dropped to the surface with a loud thud. Then she placed her keys down on top of them and ran a hand through her hair in a resigning way. She was tired, her clothes smelt of smoke, her feet had swollen to twice their size, her body was sweaty from earlier exertions and her hair had that slightly plastic feel that grease brought. Altogether she was, like the kitchen, an absolute mess. 

'Language Weasley,' came the amused voice from the doorway.

'Sod off Malfoy,' she said automatically. 'You aren't helping by being a stubborn mule.'

'Nice to know you think of me as higher then muck Weasley,' he replied coldly. 'Maybe if you'd cleaned up when you were supposed to we wouldn't be in this mess. Would we?'

His voice demanded answers that would force her into taking the blame for the situation. She hated it when he did his lord of the manor act. It wasn't even his flat - he only paid rent once a month, apart from that it was normally like he was never there. 

'Don't start. I'm tired.'

Turning, she pushed past him and padded into the sitting room wondering why on earth she had ever accepted a Malfoy into her home. Oh yes, she remembered dryly, money. At the time she had been unable to keep up the payments on the mortgage and had eagerly taken up her mother's suggestion of taking a lodger. The problem had ultimately been though that this would mean allowing a stranger into her home. Pushing this concern aside, she had put an ad in the newspaper and had arranged interviews. 

Albert had been the worst, she recalled. He had been twenty three, with long black greasy hair and a huge hook nose. For some bizarre reason his pupils had been entirely black, which had given her quite a shock. She had been unable to even make eye contact with the man. Appearances are deceiving though, she thought, and had offered a great big smile. She had been wrong. When he began to leer at her and talk about sexual positions that can be applied to broom movement, she realised he was not the sort of house mate she was looking for.

In came Draco. He was essentially perfect for the job. His long term girlfriend had chucked him out, screaming that he would never love her because of his work. He had apparently replied that at least he wasn't a frigid bitch with a tendency to grunt like a pig at the crucial moment he did unfreeze her knees. For that comment he had been stunned at close range – it had just been a miracle that she had such bad aim- which left him at St Mungo. Ginny and Blaise had gone to visit him, offering their sympathy for the lack of movement he could use. He had looked so low at that point – vulnerable like a puppy dog that had been kicked. It might have been that he got what he'd deserved, but nether the less Ginny had pitied him. The next day she had offered him a place to stay. 

Bastard, she thought savagely and she slumped down into a large comfy chair. It didn't take him long to go back to his normal arrogant ways. How stupid she'd been to think that he could ever change! Even if he was on the good side, he would always be the same old Draco Malfoy.

'What's wrong?'

She looked up to see him leant against the door frame. Like her, he looked knackered beyond belief. Dark circles were drawn under his eyes and his hair was tussled with stress manhandling. It had been a long day for all of them. Her heart melted slightly. These were the moments when she remembered that he was human and not just her cold hearted boss. Sometimes he could be so caring, almost gentle. Others he was Satan incarnate. 

'It's been a long day,' she grumbled tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 'What with those enchanted toasters getting into the Ministry and demanding the right to vote as well as toast bread, and then that woman killing her abusive step father, I could easily quit work and become a…a…nun.'

A smile curled the corner of his mouth in an appealing way. Why was it he had to be so cute when she was annoyed with him? He always did this to her! Every time she needed someone to take out all her stress on, he would give a rare smile and make her feel drained of all anger. It was almost as if he had the switch to her temper and he liked to play with it before letting her be.

'Would it help if I cleaned the kitchen?'

'What happened to "If you can't be bothered to move your large arse Weasley and tidy up your own mess, then I don't see why I should"?' 

'If you quit work then I'd be left alone with only Zabini for company,' he remarked with a casual shrug. 'I'd probably commit murder and you'd forever feel guilty that you could have saved his life if only you hadn't skipped off to the nunnery.'

She smiled at him brightly. Already her mood was lifting. If Draco did the kitchen then she would be able to have a shower and get rid of the awful stench lingering on her. 'Are you sure?'

'This is a task I shall no doubt regret taking on.'

'Thank you!' she leapt up from the seat and threw her arms round his neck. 'Thank you! Thank you! Thank You!'

He remained frozen in her embrace as she squeezed him tightly to her. Moving her head she gave him a huge kiss on the cheek. 'I promise I'll stick to the rota next time!'

Draco's eyes went to hers – one eyebrow was raised and he looked slightly amused and bewildered. She frowned and suddenly realised what she was doing. Her body was pressed up against his, her arms wrapped around his neck and she had just kissed him. Her cheeks flamed slightly as the uncomfortable feeling settled in her stomach. She took a little step backwards and tucked her arms behind her back. 'Sorry, I got a little carried away.'

'I noticed.'

'Yeah, sorry about that.'

'Quite alright.'

'Alright.'

'Indeed.'

They stared at each other for a moment, neither wanting to mention the fact that she had done something embarrassing. Ginny shifted from one foot to the other, her eyes going to the spot of wall behind him. Well that wasn't very professional, she scolded inwardly, he probably thinks you're really desperate now! 

'Erm…I'd better be off to the bathroom to clean myself up then.'

He nodded at her and stepped out of the way, so she could pass. 'Okay.'

Awkwardly she stepped past him, with what she hoped was an apologetic smile plastered all over her face. Never before had she even contemplated hugging Draco, especially seeing as he was her boss. What was it the Muggles' said? Don't mix business and pleasure. Even though she found herself attracted to him sometimes, she never acted upon it. He was handsome with his aristocratic face, straight hard lines and firm body. The fact he was only jokingly arrogant made him all the sexier in her view. Never though would she entertain the thought of seducing him though. He was Malfoy. Malfoy was scum. 

'Oh and Ginny,' he said gently, 'Remember that tomorrow we have to go interview the witch in Azkaban. You might want to prepare yourself for that.'

With that he moved away into the kitchen, leaving behind him a very confused red head.

xXx

Gyrating bodies moved to the pulsing sway of the music. Smiles lit up the darkest corners of the room, as spirits pushed closer to each other. Red and green strips of light bounced off the walls, hitting the people at varying angles. Highlighted from the crowd by jets of neon slender they would dance themselves into the ground. The heart of the room was beating with sex and anticipation as the beat increased – slow then fast and back to steady rhythms.

Bitter End, the brand new nightclub, was in full swing on its opening night. Drinks were flowing at a cut price and people had taken the opportunity to let their hair down. Celebrities mingled with the press, giving their opinions of the new slice of Diagon Alley, whilst the public squealed in delight at a glance of their favourite singer. 

Luna smiled brightly to the person stood before her. He had long black hair, scruffy to the root and a predatory smile darkening his handsome face. Dark eyes emphasised his good looks, as did the long leather cloak and tight black clothing that hugged his figure. There was something slightly feline about the way he looked and acted, making Luna want to reach out and stroke the top of his head. To do that though would have meant getting a step ladder. Dwayne Oarlocks was defiantly a sight to behold.

'So how would you describe Bitter End Mr Oarlocks?' Luna asked sweetly, pushing her glasses up her nose as she did so and poising her quill for action.

'Hot, mysterious, glistening, black, deadly, invigorating,' Dwayne listed in a slow sultry tone. 'I like it. The atmosphere is electric.'

'Would you see this as a place where you and the Mews could hang out then? Or is it more a place for the people?' she was grabbing at anything she could. An interview with Dwayne Oarlocks didn't come cheap and it would defiantly get her a pay rise at the Daily Prophet. All she had to do was find something interesting to write that she could put her own spin on.

Dwayne paused and ran a hand through his hair. 'I could easily see me and the band hanging here, but I can also see it as a place where a man could take a lady for a fun time. For all the readers out there, I defiantly suggest this as a place for a date. As I said the atmosphere is electric and the music is rocking.'

'Hmm,' she paused and looked down at her parchment. It wasn't exactly a world exclusive. No, she'd have to squeeze him for more. Inwardly she sighed, it been so much easier working for her fathers paper. The readers had been interested in things that were important, like equal rights for garden trolls. Not enough money was made from it though and Luna had had to find a new job. 

It had been difficult breaking the bond between her and the family business. Since her days in Hogwarts she'd wanted to carry on there, but it had been too stressful not being able to get good interviews. She should have realised things wouldn't change. Gossip would always be the big seller and so she would have to adapt. Write something banal. A grimace flickered across her face for a second. Well, at least she wasn't thought of as Loopy Luna anymore.

'What kind of lady would you personally bring here, Mr Oarlocks?' she asked in a honeyed tone. 'Anyone in particular that our readers would be interested to hear about?'

Another smile changed his face to one of light instead of dark. 'Well that would be telling Miss Lovegood, wouldn't it? A gentleman never gives anything away about his girlfriends.'

'Hypothetically speaking though, who would you bring if you could take anyone?' she continued to dig. 'There must be someone…'

'I guess it would have to be…' he leaned forward secretively, 'You.'

Luna frowned slightly. Well she hadn't expected that one. She wasn't exactly good looking in any sense. Since Hogwarts she had acquired a new set of glasses that fitted her face better. Her hair was cut into a bob that framed her face, and was naturally a dirty blonde. Appearance had never really bothered her, so her eyebrows were still very pale and her eyes slightly protuberant. Round her neck she was sporting a necklace of bottle caps and, lower, a dress made of patches from old cloaks that had been going to the bin. It was baggy and long on her slim frame, coming in at the waist then dropping to sweep the floor. They had said dress smartly and it had been the closest she could get.

'I suppose now I've got you here…' he began.

'Luna!' 

Turning slightly, she grinned. It was Harry Potter, her favourite Auror and all round good guy. It was safe to say that she loved him. Not in an obsessive way, but that of a friend. He had always seemed to see beyond what the others saw. When they say black and white, he would notice the grey areas – just like she would. In Hogwarts he had seemed like a god. A man who was a speaker of words and a doer of deeds. A true hero. Now he transcended that – Harry Potter was the hero who had saved them all and was now an Auror for the Ministry. 

'Harry!' she said in what was almost a whisper. 'You're in a nightclub!'

'Erm…yes…' Harry said slowly, having reached her. 'So are you.'

Her eyes darted from side to side for a second. Dwayne was looking vaguely amused, as was Harry, and they were both gazing at her expectantly. Just gazing though and it seemed almost as if they were looking right through her. There was no staring involved, no counting the freckles on her nose or caring about her appearance. Just a non-judgemental gaze, which seemed a little out of place.

Stop, Luna thought, over analysing everything and speak to them.

'This is Dwayne Oarlocks. He's in a band, but his Mew's aren't with him tonight because Damien has a cold and Phillip's wife is expecting a baby any second now. But wasn't it nice for him to come and represent them all? Don't you think so Harry?' she gushed. 'Oh and this is Harry Potter…but I'm sure you don't actually need any introductions because you're both so famous!'

Now they were staring at her. Luna had done it again. She had babbled. It seemed that whenever she was doing an interview, she could just be Luna. But then when there was a friend about, she would have to be Loopy Luna, the girl who was absolutely dotty. In some ways it was very unfair.

The two men shook hands though, and talked to each other politely. Luna should have been listening, she knew, but she wasn't really with them. Her eyes had moved to the dancing people. Didn't they realise that dancing like that was unhealthy? They'd probably develop something nasty, or catch something off the person they were pressed against. Then there was the fact it was a fire hazard to have so many people in one little room. 

'What do you think?' Harry asked with a smile.

'I know. They really should limit the number of people allowed to dance at one time. Maybe a stamping service would help.' Luna said dreamily.

'Actually he meant to Bitter End itself,' Dwayne commented with the hint of a laugh in his tone. 'Though I'm sure that's a good idea.'

'Oh, the club…' she said quickly. 'Well I think it's very…nice, if you like that sort of thing.'

The men exchanged glances, and Harry shrugged slightly. 

'Well, I'd better be going. Got to talk to the fans and book a table for tomorrow night.' Dwayne said with a smile. 'How does seven thirty sound to you?'

Luna frowned at him. 'Pardon?'

'For our date,' he continued. 'After all, I haven't said everything I want to say about the club for your readers.'

'Oh…okay…'

'That's a date then.'

Dwayne leaned forward and kissed her cheek lightly. Then like a cat he disappeared into the throngs of people, with only screams of delight to show his path. Luna blinked. It was slightly surreal to be asked out on a date by a rock star. Especially one who had asked you out in front of about hundred screaming girls, who would probably hate her for even breathing the same air as him. Oh well. She needed the interview. 

'Date, hey?' Harry said with arched eyebrows. 'Sounds like you've been busy since I last saw you.'

'An interview is an interview. You should know that by now Harry Potter.' Luna mused. 'Maybe I should bring him a bunch of flowers to say thank you…'

'What ever would Ron think?' he remarked with a sly smile. 'I suppose this means you aren't besotted with him anymore?'

A sigh escaped her lips. Ronald Weasley was amazing. He was tall and lean, with bright red hair that made his noticeable. His face was mature, with freckles sprinkled upon it like hundreds and thousands. Yes, Ronald was like a cake. Beautiful and delicious to…

'Or maybe not.'

Luna blushed slightly. Ever since Hogwarts she'd been madly in love with Ronald Weasley. She had wanted to be normal for him, so she'd cut her hair and got new glasses. The way she spoke had become more definite in a vein attempt to make him like her. She had appeared normal for almost a whole year once. He'd just thought she'd gone mad though and dismissed her. Having been in the year above her at school, he had left and it had hurt deeply to be alone. Now she worked at the Prophet though, she got to see him almost every day. 

'Is he here?' she asked enthusiastically. 'Is he coming to this nightclub? Tonight?'

'He's running a little late because he had an interview with Cho Chang to deal with. Not something I'd particularly like to do. Not with all our history anyway. I mean…does she still cry all the time?' Harry said as he leant back against the pillar behind him. Even in this crowded space he seemed right at home.

'She's a homosexual now.'

'I heard that. Ron thought it thinks I should try and catch up with her at some point. I on the other hand think he's just being sick as usual…' 

'Ronald could never be sick minded. He was probably concerned about questions you might have about your ability as a man. If one girlfriend can turn then there's no saying the others won't.' Luna said matter-of-factly. 

There was silence as Harry stared at her.

'Shut up Luna!'


	4. Chapter Three: Courage

**Dictionary**

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'**Courage _n._ ability to disregard fear; bravery/ **courage of ones convictions** – courage to act on one's beliefs. [Latin _cor heart]'_**

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**Chapter Three**

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****

Courage was a funny thing. It came and went at the strangest times. Right now was one of those times where it had left Hermione. Standing in the middle of Diagon Alley, in the early morning Hermione looked at her shop. Her accumulation of months of work, sweat and courage was now before her in all its glory. She had received rave reviews about _'Dewpebbles', but the biggest test was about to come - showing it off to her friends. No they weren't her friends, they were her family and this was the reason her courage had left her. There was no bigger critic than your own family, except maybe yourself._

Taking a deep breath she pushed open the front door, spun round and turned the sign over. Open for business - well there was no going back now, she thought to herself.

The cracks were beginning to show beneath the surface now. All the doubt and worry coming together, forming an almighty fist to punch her in the stomach. No, punching was the wrong word for the feeling. It was pummelling her. She felt nervous, nauseous, excited. There was a sense of anticipation about the whole proceedings, a bit like the night before Christmas. All you could do is think of it arriving, the sweet joy it would bring, but because of that it took longer to get there. Stuffing her hands inside the pockets of her purple robe, she tried to hide the slight tremor that had begun to rattle them.

Hermione moved away from the door. It was time for her to put on a brave face and start the day as she meant to go on. A smile fixed itself in place. This was no longer the worried shopkeeper, but the confident and controlled saleswoman - she'd read that in a book somewhere. Apparently location was everything. Well, she thought, at least I have that if nothing else.

'Dewpebbles' was along one of the main roads in Diagon Alley. It was made from red bricks, which had been whitewashed over. The door was made of oak, which stood tall and demanding above the people arriving. Swinging from the top was a sign attached with chain. It read the name of the shop in magical blue letters. Months had been spent enchanting them to change shape when people looked at it – more so then actually collecting the books together. Next to the door was the window, which was laden with an inviting display of books to tempt all that passed. 

Within the establishment, there was a mix of book shelves, tables, stools and large comfy seats. They were split into two sections with the refreshments to the left and books to the right. At the back of the shop lay the counter. That was Hermione's favourite place of all. Here she could hide away and maybe sneak a read of the latest Erin Erotica novel. Here she was in control of everything that happened around her. It was a safe haven to be in.

Smiling to herself at the thoughts of comfort, she looked over towards the staff entrance. Chatter rose through the silence signalling that her two assistants had arrived. They were both in their early fifties, with their children all grown up and left home, leaving them with nothing to do. Kind, knowledgeable and motherly, Hermione and instantly liked them both on sight and got on amazingly with them. They both reminded her slightly of Mrs Weasley in some ways. 

'Morning dear,' Mrs Dempsey called over to Hermione. 'Nervous? Believe me, you don't know what nervous is until you have a toddler flying round the room brandishing a wand.'

Hermione smiled slightly. Mrs Dempsey was always talking like that - as if she didn't know anything because she'd never had children. To a certain extent she was right, but had it ever occurred to her that the shop was her child? Probably not.

Ms King smiled as she fiddled with the arrangement of wildflowers on a small table in the seating area.

'Leave that Mildred!' Mrs Dempsey commanded with a tone of authority. Her hand was in her nest of greying hair that was piled high on top of her head. 'All the leaves will fall off, then who'll have to go out and replace them. Me, that's who!' 

Mrs King nodded and moved away from the small table. Hermione smiled at her kindly. 'Okay ladies, we haven't really got much to do until the customers arrive. So...erm...relax.'

It was a strange sensation being the one in control. At home there were her parents, at school the teachers, then at the Ministry there had been the bosses. Working at the Ministry had always seemed like her ideal job. She had dreamt of making things right and changing the corrupt system. Upon living the dream though, she realised that there was no freedom here. You did what you were told. Your opinion was of no concern to those in power – the invisible men who paid you for your services. Hermione had felt like her input had meant nothing. It was almost like prostituting her knowledge to the highest bidder. She was sure it was probably just her mind playing tricks on her, but she soon found herself handing in her resignation. 

That's when 'Dewpebbles' had fallen into her lap. All she'd needed was a push in the right direction from her friends. They had encouraged her to follow her passion. They made her question what she really wanted from a life of work, and she had realised that she wanted to be happy. Books made her happy. Everything seemed to fit after that realisation. 

Of course her new dream had cost significant amounts of money. A loan had to be taken out and money borrowed from those closest to her. That was her biggest fear. If everything fell down around her then how would she repay that debt? Her friends would probably become angered, as would the bank, and ties would be strained. There was no ways she was going to let that happen. So everything had been poured into her creation. 

It would succeed. 

The bell above the door tinkled softly in a welcoming fashion, drawing Hermione's attention from her thoughts. Her eyes flew to the door and a slight smile curled the corner of her mouth. 

Framed by the doorway, that seemed far too small around his figure, was Fred Weasley. The early morning sun was peeking over the buildings, creating a golden haze around his figure. His red hair shone in a godlike fashion, making his face seem more masculine. The freckles dusting his nose seemed more prominent, making the chocolate brown of his eyes seem more intense then usual. As her eyes moved slowly down his body, she licked her dry lips absently. He was wearing a shirt and jeans – Muggle clothing. The shirt wasn't done all the way up, with a wisp of red hair peeking out the top, tempting her to stare. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets and he was looking expectant.

Fred Weasley was looking at her. Hermione tore her eyes away, not wanting to be caught staring…again. 'Good morning Fred.'

'Hey you,' he said with a broad smile, which lit up his face. 'I hear there's this new book shop opening. Thought I'd come and take a peek. Apparently the woman who runs it is a friend of mine.'

Hermione giggled like a silly little girl. She hated it when he teased her like this. In fact she hated him being in such close proximity of her. It made her brain fuzzy, and her control fly out of the window. The woman she usually was suddenly became replaced by an adolescent teenager with a big crush. 

The first time she'd noticed him in a new light, heat had flooded into her stomach. It had felt like melting and flying at the same time. Ever since her feelings had become more complex. She denied being in love with him – that word was far too strong to describe the way she felt. Instead she'd settled for lust. It was okay to have lustful thoughts about someone, just as long as they never found out. For a year now he'd been the main basis of her fantasies.

When she woke up she'd think about him being by her side. Fred would awaken her with feather like kisses on her face. She would roll into his embrace and that's the way they'd stay for hours on end. They would talk about anything and everything. It wouldn't matter because they were together and she'd have someone to share everything with. Then when she went to bed, they would take a more erotic note. It was safe to say that they were no where as calm as the morning dreams.

'So have you had many customers yet?' Fred asked as he moved among the shelves, glancing between the books. 'You have a good collection here. I shouldn't really be surprised though, seeing as it's you who chooses them.'

'You're my first,' she said with a slight blush. Maybe that was too much of a double meaning. 

Fred laughed gently and gazed at her. 'Well that's an honour I'm sure a man has already had, 'Mione.'

Again she felt the blush creeping about her. Glancing away from him she spotted Ms King and Mrs Dempsey looking at her strangely. They were probably wondering what happened to their cool collected boss. Well, she was going to pull herself together. No man was going to make her act foolishly in front of her staff. 

Picking up her mug, she took a calming sip of tea. It should be easy to ignore her feelings. At least for as long as it took for him to leave the shop.

'I'll have this,' he said in a gentle tone, leaning over the counter and giving her look that could melt ice. 'I've always wanted to be someone's first.'

Hermione choked on her tea, and put her cup down quickly. How had he moved so fast? Then again, she hadn't really been paying attention to him. Her mind had been on not noticing him or watching his every move. Now he was patting her on the back with one of his big, strong hands. He smelt slightly of aftershave. 

'Better?' he asked with a grin.

She nodded. 'Thanks.'

'You're very welcome. I'm always trying to save damsels in distress.'

Picking up the book he had placed on the counter, Hermione looked at the cover. It was one of her favourite biographies – Dumbledore. She smiled slightly at the familiar face. It had been a long time since she'd last spoken to her old headmaster. Every time she saw him though there was a sense of doom. He was older then old, and it worried her that soon he would be gone. No longer would he be part of her life. Never would he leave her memories though. 

'I wouldn't have pinned this as your type of book,' Fred said suddenly. In his hand was Erica Erotica's latest novel. 'Isn't it a bit racy for a good girl like you?'

'It's not mine!' she screeched, making a grab for it but missing.

Fred held it away from her, with a sexy smile. 'Then why, Miss Granger is there a book mark in it?'

Her face was on fire, she could almost feel the colour beneath her skin. 'The suppliers sent it to us. They wanted to know whether we'd sell them here. So I thought I would read it to see if it was…erm…suitable…'

'Hmm,' he said in a teasing tone, and then opened it to the marked page. 'Well, what do we have here? "Connor undid her buttons one by one, whispering that he loved her all the way. Fiona sighed heavily and closed her eyes. Her heart was racing like a train, her pulse skipping a beat as his rugged hands dipped lower. His body was beautifully lean as it pressed against her fiery skin…" I couldn't imagine you doing this, let alone reading it.'

'Yes well, I think it's entirely unsuitable for this shop. I don't know why the supplier's even bothered,' Mrs Dempsey cut in, pulling the book out of his unresisting hands. 'Miss Granger is a saint to even attempt to read it.'

'That's our Hermione. She always was a good girl,' he winked at her knowingly. His hands reached back into his pocket and withdrew some coins. He laid them on the counter and picked up his book. 'Well if you ever need anything, I'll be across the road.'

With that Fred Weasley was gone, leaving a mortified Hermione behind him. Why was it that he had to be the one to see the chinks in her armour? She would have laughed if it had been anyone else but him. Now she just felt slightly sick. Surely he didn't think of her as that same innocent little girl that did her homework on town?

Maybe he was right. The last time she'd taken a lover it had been Neville. He hadn't exactly had the moves, so to speak, but she'd gotten what she wanted from him – a relationship she could rely on. Before that there had been Ron. The love making had been amazing, but they were too volatile together. Arguments had torn them apart. Since then she'd resigned herself to fantasies and stupid books, which questioned her intelligence all together. 

'Don't worry dear,' Ms King said in her reedy voice. 'He'll see the error of his ways soon enough.'

Hermione nodded slightly. That's what she wished too.

**xXx**

'Just…let it all out…'

Draco was not happy.

It had all started well that morning. He'd woken with a sense of contentment. Ginny's radio was whining in the kitchen, with the lady in question humming along. There had been a smell of toast and butter wafting under his door. The heating was on, the sunshine was out and he had had a good night's sleep. All in all the morning had been a pleasurable experience.

Once he'd actually left the bed however, things had slowly begun to get worse.

As an investigator in the Ministry, it was his job to look into deaths and present evidence in court. Some of the work was simple enough, but there were times when things became complicated. The word Draco would have used was "politics". When there was politics involved, then it was often the case that the clues were not all pointing to the true killer or truth. Because of this, he worked long, hard hours, throwing himself into his work. 

Everything had been put on hold. His life, family, friends and love, all discarded for a good pay cheque. It had been difficult at first – the perks of the job often outweighed the negatives. Now though he'd found it hard to separate everything. Sometimes everything was too much for him. His work had become him. 

Today had been a particularly hard case. A witch had killed her abusive step-father by inflicting upon him small curses. Each one was not enough to kill, but compiled together it was a lethal spell. It had taken ten hours for him to die, and all the time she had been watching him suffer. There was no evidence to show signs of regret – the curses could have easily been reversed in time. No, it appeared to be a closed case from the minute he read it. Looks could be very deceiving though.

'Have you finished yet…?'

Ginny had been cautious about going with him. She hadn't been an investigator for long and found visiting Azkaban distressing. Draco didn't really blame her nervousness. The only reason he could stomach it was the fact he'd visited his father there in previous years. It was simple to forget where you were when you couldn't think straight. 

They had decided to go after breakfast, and then return to the office to complete the paperwork. It was a simple enough plan, but what they hadn't been expecting was the arrival of Ron on her doorstep. 

Ron didn't approve of his sister sharing a flat with a Malfoy. In fact he didn't approve of them working together. This bothered Draco somewhat. He didn't like the fact that Ron thought he had the right to come round and check on Ginny. He didn't like the implications his visits made. It was always calmer when he didn't have big brother lurking over his shoulder. So he and Ginny made a deal – when Ron arrived, Draco would suddenly have to leave. It normally worked, but this time he couldn't leave alone.

The normal things had occurred – Ron had threatened Draco whilst Ginny was making the coffee. Why on earth did Weasley think he wanted to corrupt his sister? It was a ridiculous idea, and Draco told him so. This then sparked an argument about why he didn't want to; wasn't Ginny good enough for him? Draco would try to explain that he wasn't attracted to skinny, dizzy, redheads, who thought he was the scum of the universe.

Bang. Another black eye for the books.

Ginny hadn't seemed too concerned that her brother had punched her boss and flatmate. Instead she had shooed him away, given Draco a smile and asked if he was ready to leave. He had growled, muttered about her caring nature and they had apparated to Azkaban.

Now he was the one tending to her as they stood in the wooden shack. His hand was fisted in her hair, holding it all away from her face. Her head was lowered over a toilet, her breathing shallow and fast. They were both kneeling on an earth floor, the wind whistling around them. The small space was filled with the stench of sick and sweat, which made Draco want to gag himself.

'I'm sorry,' Ginny whispered between breaths. 'I wasn't expecting that much…'

'Hush,' he said gently, as his hand rubbed her back in brisk circular motions. 'There's nothing wrong with being ill after that. It just shows that you're human enough to see what's in front of you.'

If he were to be honest he'd take that back. What was this woman doing in this job? Did she not realise that it would involve seeing things that weren't exactly rosy? Draco had witnessed this kind of desperation many times before. A woman driven to killing, alone and scared, with the only route out in a coffin made of cardboard – death began to look a little more appealing. It was just a shame Ginny had to find her hanging like an empty sack from the bunk bed rail. 

First the tears and the lack of understanding came. Ginny considered that innocence was absolute until guilt was proven. It was probably one of the reasons she ignored her brother's whining about Draco. In this instance she had considered that there was some sort of justification in the killing. She believed that someone would help this witch. Not yet had she learnt the main lesson – there was no justifying a murder so drawn out and painful.

Then there'd been the anger. Her own innocence shone through as she told him there was no justice in this world. Who else would have punished the abusive step-father? It hadn't been fair to put this girl in here.

Lastly everything sank in. Death had been in that room and it left a nasty taste. Draco knew this, but had always had the control to not let his emotions rule his body. Ginny hadn't been able to keep it all down anymore.

It wasn't just her lack of self control that bothered him either. It was the vomit on his cloak. Why couldn't Ginny have held it back long enough to get to the toilet? Women were so weak when faced with a challenged.

He reconsidered this thought. No, there was something that bothered him more. Even in this wooden hut, with the wind whistling round him and his knees damp with mud, he wanted to kiss her. It didn't matter that she smelt vile and her hair was a matted mess. All he wanted was to push her up against the wall and become part of her. 

'I think I'm okay now…' Ginny said moving away from him and sitting on the floor. 

When she had been appointed to his office, he hadn't intended on becoming so dependant on her existence. It seemed like the only reason he kept working was so he could be near her. Just to sit in an office with her was enough. Living with her was an added bonus. With it though came the negatives.

The bathroom was next to his room, so when someone ran a bath he could hear the water running. He knew that she would be undressing, peeling away the work's grub, and slipping into a bath of water. Ginny was naked only a couple of meters away from him. It was a terrible thought that haunted him through most of his wakening hours. 

Then at the office all he wanted to do was have her against the desk, the wall, the filing cabinet. It was torture to be in a room full of such lewd fantasies playing themselves out. Most of the time he would be away on business, which meant he didn't have to be so close to her. He had even found himself avoiding all contact with her in an attempt to forget.

'Malfoy…? Earth to Malfoy…?' Ginny said with a raised eyebrow. 'Hello?'

'What?' he snapped, ashamed of being interrupted fantasising about her. 

'You haven't been listening to a word I've been saying, have you?' she laughed, pushing a hand through her hair. 'I was saying how we'd better get back to the office. Blaise will be wondering why we're not there to tell him what to do. In fact he's probably trying to work out how a phone works as we speak. It would be cruel to treat such a stupid creature in this manner.'

Ah, Draco thought, Zabini. There was the fly in his ointment. It was clear to him that Ginny had feelings for his partner. They had a chemistry that bounced off the walls. There was nothing stable or reliable when they were in the same room. Of course they fought all the time and bickered like five year olds, but even Zabini wouldn't deny the physical attraction that crashed when they were together. Draco was jealous of this mutual feeling. He didn't want Ginny to want Zabini and for it to be returned.

'Well we would have been back half an hour ago had you not been sick,' he drawled dryly. 

If there was one thing he was that was a sore loser. 

'Nice to see we're reverting back to being an arse now I'm not vomiting on you,' Ginny remarked with equal coldness. 'I should have known it wouldn't have lasted.'

'It's not my fault you can't handle the job,' Draco stated in defence. Not only was he defending himself, he was taking out his frustration out on her. 'And I should have known a Weasley would have been ungrateful of my help.'

'Why do you always bring family into it?!' she screeched with annoyance. 'MEN!'

Draco had never been sure why he wanted to have her so badly, but it wasn't the fighting. Ginny Weasley could, and would, make everything into a fight. It annoyed him somewhat that he couldn't have a reasonable conversation with him. The day she said he was right would probably be the day he died.

'Let's get back to Zabini. I know how much you miss him,' Draco said coolly, standing up.

'What's that supposed to mean?' Ginny fumed, also standing, so they were facing each other in a battle of the titans. 

'I think you can work that one out for yourself. If you can't then I think you should consider other forms of employment.'

**xXx******

Tissues lay rejected on the floor, as the light of the television bounced light across the floor, the only light source in the room. They threw large, crumpled visions of monsters on the walls, each one peering into the centre of the room. Their silent watching was accompanied by the sounds of the TV, blaring out the old, familiar tunes. 

Lavender sniffed loudly, shoved her spoon into the tub of ice cream and devoured the lump of icy dessert. Her face was stained by fresh tears with hints of old make up, varying the colour of her skin. The hair that had once lain in beautiful waves was now scraped back from her face. Her clothes had changed from smart to slob-like, depicting clearly the regression of her work to her life. 

Beside her Cho sat, calm and crisp compared to her companion. She sat regally, with her feet tucked beneath her, in slouchy trousers and a v-necked t-shirt. Her eyes stared intently at the screen, as she popped a grape into her mouth and chewed attentively. There wasn't a tissue in her grasp, or a desperate tear about to leak from her lip. In fact a smile was beginning to curl the corner of her lip with hidden amusement.

A huge sob of grief left Lavender as the hero stepped on a landmine. 

'Well that wasn't expected,' Cho remarked sarcastically. 'I've been waiting for him to die for the past two hours.'

'It's so sad!' Lavender whined, blowing her nose loudly into a tissue. 

'No. You're looking at it all wrong. Now he's dead, the other men are saved because the helicopters will see the smoke and find them. Then that woman, what-ever-her-name-is, can move on with her life. Maybe she'll revert to lesbianism. You never know,' Cho said with an amused smile. 

'You can be so heartless at times,' her friend said indignantly. 'He was the love of her life. They were meant to be together forever. It was fate.'

'Well, clearly not.'

Lavender looked away from Cho and leaned forward to scoop up the remote from the floor. Pressing a button the machine began to make noises as it whirled and spun the tape. The room was pitch black for a second before the channel flicked to another, and light replenished the room.

'I liked it,' Cho said finally. 'The story was…watch able.'

'No you didn't. You thought it was stupid and sloppy,' Lavender said standing up and stretching her limbs temptingly. 'You're not very good at keeping still for two hours.'

'That's because I work hard,' she replied, her eyes taking in the curve of her assistant's hip. 'I only agreed to this because I thought it would widen my understanding of Muggle behaviour in a modern society.'

Cho leaned back in her chair and relaxed. The reason she'd really accepted to watch a film at Lavender's house, was simply because it was Lavender. It was nice to watch her unguarded body twitch with emotion. It had certainly been more entertaining then the film. Her regard of Muggle "fun" was of disdain. It was things like film which stopped them from really living.

'Do you want anything from the kitchen?' Lavender asked with a smile, her fingers pushing at her tear dry skin.

'Anyone would think you were trying to fatten me up,' Cho said with the hint of seduction to her tone. 

'You're far too skinny for your own good. You will never attract a man if you don't have a bit more meat on you.'

That was where the comedy lay. Lavender seemed completely oblivious to what the rest of the world seemed to know. Even though Cho flirted and teased her unashamedly, this girl had not caught on to the fact that it wasn't men she wanted. It was probably wrong of her to not tell her the truth directly, but Cho had seen some women's reactions. As usual there would be an awkward atmosphere, denied only by the other person. In the end it determined the real friends from the others.

Cho regarded her leaving, allowing herself the perk of eyeing her behind. It wasn't like Lavender was a friend. She was a work colleague who spent time with her – that was probably why Cho lacked courage to tell her she was wrong. She didn't want to hurt her feelings. Anyway, the more ignorant she was the less guarded she would be. This allowed Cho to look as much as she liked.

'Are you sure you don't want anything?' Lavender called from the kitchen. 'I have some low fat yogurt here, if it's that you're worried about.'

'That's not…'

'Please? I feel bad if I eat and you don't,' she pleaded across the hallway. 

'How could I refuse an offer like that?' Cho finally gave in reluctantly. 'Strawberry, if you have it.'

Lavender returned with the food and curled up into the corner of the couch. Her face was bright and airy, with a smile plastered across it. 'So who's the man in your life Cho? I want to know all the gossip.'

'There isn't a man in my life,' Cho said with a tight smile. 

'And why not?! You're gorgeous!'

Cho laughed softly and pursed her lips. 'I'm just not…ready for anyone like that in my life right now. I find there are more important than someone to go home to and… Well I'm sure you catch my drift.'

'I wish I could be as dedicated to my work as you,' Lavender said thoughtfully, taking a bite of her banana. 'My problem is that I always see Draco Malfoy when I'm there. He was a horrid little boy at school, but now he's gorgeous! I just wish I could talk to him…'

'Why don't you then?' Cho asked coolly.

'He's just so…unattainable. I would make a fool of myself if I even tried to speak to him. You know what I mean?' she paused. 'It's like when your heart gets caught in your throat and the words don't come out as you meant.'

Thinking about it for a second, Cho decided that it wasn't something she had often experienced. 'I have never had a problem expressing myself Lavender. I normally just go for what I want.' 

'Would you teach me?'

'Teach you what Lavender?'

'How to be cool and collected,' she said eagerly. 'Like you.'

'Believe me, you don't want to be like me,' Cho protested, shifting her weight on the couch uncomfortably. 'It's too much like hard work.'

'Please?' 

Their eyes met for a couple of beats - intense blue meeting calming brown, in a moment of friendship. Was the possibility of something more too far from reality? Cho thought about it and reached a conclusion swiftly. A friend would help and she needed all the friends she could get.

'Okay,' Cho said softly. 'I'll help you get Draco Malfoy.'


	5. Chapter Four: Haunting

**Dictionary**

****

**Haunting **_adj._ (of a memory, melody, etc.) tending to linger in the mind; poignant, evocative

**Chapter Four**

****

Blaise reclined in his chair and regarded the other participants of the room. There was defiantly something off about the way they were acting. For one, they were all sat in deadly silence actually working. That in itself pointed to something being wrong with the usually sparkly relationship.

Looking down at his newspaper, he scanned the headlines. He was defiantly not going to get involved. Blaise knew all too well what involvement meant. It would mean having to take a side, which would then lead to hostility. A hostile office atmosphere was not exactly appealing – especially if you actually intended on getting some work done.

Silence would have to do.

House prices were down, the stock exchange was on course and no one had been killed. The banks were contemplating a strike and House Elves were demanding the right to be left alone by activists. All in all nothing exciting was happening in the world. Blaise glanced over the top of his paper. They were still working. Silently.

It would have been okay if he was also working, but he'd decided against going to Azkaban with them. The place brought back bad memories. They were the kind of thoughts that made you want to jump off a tall building so they would stop. He'd sworn the last time he was there that he would never grace its shadow again. So he'd told them he was going to work on the accounts. It was a lie. He knew it and so did Draco, but neither of them would mention it. 

Curiosity was beginning to make the palms of his hands itch with anticipation.

'What's happening?' Blaise finally relented to asking. 

'Nothing,' Draco said stonily, not looking up from the parchment he was scribbling on. Everything about him was denying that statement, from the tension in his right hand, to the opaque gloom in his eyes. There was defiantly something amiss.

'You could have fooled me,' Blaise muttered, looking between Ginny and Draco wearily. 'You could cut the atmosphere with a knife in here.'

'Don't you have some work you should be doing?' Draco sneered, finally looking up. 'I'm not in the mood for your juvenile banter when I'm trying to concentrate. What happened to the accounts? Finish them all by yourself?'

Ginny gave a growl of frustration, and stood up abruptly, drawing the attention of the two men in the room. Gracing them both with a cool glare, she scooped up a bundle of papers. 'I'm going home!' she declared before apparating away.

Draco gave a small sigh, 'Women.'

Blaise looked back down at his paper, and shifted slightly so he could rest his feet on his table. Well at least he could relax now without the bother of wondering what was wrong between his companions. It was probably the same thing as it always was – sexual frustration mixed with angst. 

Ever since Weasley had joined their office as an apprentice to the trade, Blaise had known that she had feelings for Draco. It was clear from the way she teased him, always wanting to better him. Blaise hadn't minded too much. In fact it had been quite entertaining to watch their interactions as he contemplated working. They amused him like a small boy frying ants under a microscope.

Their games had grown old quickly though. Ginny wasn't aware of the attraction, or the attentions of Draco. She wasn't used to his cold manner with her, translating it to old family hatred and not what it really was – attention seeking. So instead of forming a close relationship with him, she'd turned to Blaise. They fought like school children, working and having fun at the same time, which he loved. It was nice to have a free spirit in the office. 

Unfortunately though, Draco had become the outsider. Now he spent more time away from the office then in it.  He resented the fact that he was uncomfortable in his own work place. Then when he'd started living with Ginny, things had seemed tenser. There was that old tune playing again on the harp of yesterday. Sexual fear, temptation and lust all muddled up.

'What did you do this time?' Blaise asked conversationally.

'She threw up on my cloak,' Draco remarked dryly. 'Having found the witch dead, she felt ill and decided that the best time to let it all out was whilst we were leaving. It's all in the report if you can be bothered to read it.'

'Open and shut case then,' Blaise replied. 'It's always easier when they commit suicide. That way they can't fight back.'

'Indeed.'

'I was looking over the report of the murder. Can you be certain it was her? Looking at it now, it could have been possible to implement the girl. All you'd have to do is turn up when he's abusing the girl, use her wand to cast a few curses and leave her there. She wouldn't have been in a fit state to help her step-father. Then again if there was another killer, they would know that she wouldn't want to.' Blaise turned over a page in the newspaper, turning it so he could look at the half naked, gyrating woman. 'According to the report she never uttered a word. It was just assumed she'd committed the act.'

'Nice theory. Full of holes,' Draco said with a raised eyebrow. 'The girl didn't speak because she was, and I quote, "mentally scarred" by the experience. You have no evidence of a third party, and the witch signed a confession.'

'What if I'm right?'

'What if you're wrong?'

Blaise folded the newspaper in half and placed it across his knees. 'You shouldn't have taken Weasley to Azkaban. Even if this hadn't happened, it would have affected her badly.'

'Ginny can think for herself. If she hadn't wanted to go then she would have said. Anyway, she has to learn that everything isn't as rosy as Mummy and Daddy told her. Potter isn't going to be there to rescue her all the time,' Draco said with a hint of disgust and sarcasm.

'She's not like us,' Blaise said quietly.

'I'm fully aware of that Zabini.'

It was true that Blaise was attracted to the youngest Weasley. He would have loved for her to be his conquest, but it was so obvious where her affections lay. Ginny stayed even though she claimed to detest Draco most of the time, allowed him to live with her and accompanied him to Azkaban. It went beyond the call of duty. 

'I reckon she only went to Azkaban because she remembers what happened to you last time.'

'Shut up Zabini, I'm not in the mood for this conversation,' Draco snapped, using his authority with an unspoken power. 'It was Weasley's choice and I don't care about her reasoning. What I care about now is getting this report finished.'

'Then what?' Blaise questioned with a certain degree of arrogance. 'You're going to go home? Ginny's probably already putting curses on the door as we speak. By the look on her face I'd say you pushed too hard Malfoy.'

'What happens between me and Weasley has nothing to do with you,' Draco said, rising from his chair. 'You seem to be forgetting your place.'

'I'm not the only one then.'

Draco's fists curled and whitened. 'You would take her side without knowing the story wouldn't you? Typical Zabini behaviour.'

'I would,' he smiled slightly. 

With a final glare Draco swept out of the office, rage coming off him in waves. 

Blaise leant back in his chair and closed his eyes. Why did things have to suddenly get so confusing? It wasn't that he hated Malfoy, or favoured him beneath Weasley. The fact of the matter was that it all came down to past experience. Malfoy had a nasty tendency of playing mind games. He would get under people's skin, forcing them to react. That's why he was the boss – no one could force an interrogation like he could. Maybe it ran in the family.

When they'd been at school together, Zabini had traded insults with Malfoy like people greeted one another. It had been a relationship which had meant nothing to them. To him Malfoy had simply been another snake in the grass, waiting for the kill. You could have almost called their relationship a competitive one. Each one wanted to get the prey first.

In their last year though, things began to tumble down around them. Everyone was panicking. The fear of death, destruction and doom lingered overhead, like a spider waiting for the fly. It had been then that people had become stripped bare of their defences. They had all been as vulnerable as new born babes. 

Malfoy had hardened. Lucius was in Azkaban and Narcissa was dying of cancer. It had been too much, too soon. No one had been there to hold him up. So he'd taken to hating everything and everyone. The Ministry were calling up all able bodied men to fight against the darkness. It had been too easy to escape what was real and become meshed up in war. 

Everyone heard the rumours. They'd echoed round the entire school, bouncing off the walls like an uncontrollable ball of fire. No one had been too shocked though. A Malfoy was a Malfoy, no strings attached. It was a miracle Draco had been able to get a job in the Ministry after the war. Then again, it was better have him with them then against them.

Blaise opened his eyes and took a deep breath. Sometimes it was difficult to live in the present when the past seemed to be just over your shoulder. 

If anyone were to look at Blaise's file, they would be able to see the inconsistencies. The fact that he appeared to have disappeared for three years before joining the Ministry's Investigating Department was just one of them. It was in that period of time that he had suffered the worst. There were some things more painful then anything physical. 

Three years working in Azkaban for the Ministry had ways of breaking you down.

**xXx******

It was safe to say that Colin Creevey was not happy.

There had been a time when it would have taken a lot to remove the cheer from such a happy soul. In some ways it still did. It was the little, nagging things that really got under his skin - like wet socks, the smell of body odour and people keeping secrets. Right now it was the combination of all three, which was really beginning to bake his noodle. 

Glamour and glitz, Colin had thought as he'd written out his application form for the Prophet's photography placement. He'd thought of rubbing shoulders with the stars, with people looking up to him in amazement at the beauty he captured with a lens. People would beg for him to take photos of them – young actresses pleading for him to look at their naked form. It would be a job that demanded respect and offered a form of easy living that anyone could love. That was how he had envisioned his new life ahead of him; wealthy, rewarding and respectful, with a twist of recognition.

How wrong could he have been? Instead of meeting celebrities, he was forced to trail through their rubbish, dig up dirty stories about their personal life and generally be hated by them. The offers of nude photography he did get where from ladies of a certain age who wanted to prove to their husbands that they still had it in them. Publicly he was seen as a sneak and treated almost like a thief – grabbing a couple of cheap shots. Overall he felt like a stalker; the shadow they never expected, haunting their every step.

In summer it was alright. Colin could live with the warm weather, tanning his pale skin as he walked the streets for days on end. The winter was an entirely different thing altogether. He hated the fact he was being paid to stand in the pouring rain, waiting for someone to walk out of their house. The worse of it was that he depended on this job. If he refused to go out for on a daily stalk, then they would find someone who was just as naïve as he had been when he'd applied. 

Ergo, Colin Creevey was not happy. Not one little bit.

Today had been one of the rotten apples in his basket of rancid ones. He'd spent the morning chasing after Luna Lovegood, trying to find out about when the photo shoot with Dwayne Oarlocks was. Well that had been a pointless exercise! Not only was Luna busy in a yoga and meditation class, but there was no photo shoot. Then to make matters worse his boss had ordered an update on the Oliver Wood story, to which Colin had had to lie only to be sent out "bird watching" again.

It had been a mistake to try get a bonus. Oliver Wood was the hottest Quidditch player around, and the idea of getting an exclusive on his affair had been too tempting. Colin had aspired to find out who this mystery woman was. He'd climbed trees, called up Oliver's manager pretending to be a concerned relative and stolen the stars timetable. Colin had made it so that he knew Oliver better then he knew himself – it had been his job to do so. Then having hunted the story for months he had got the perfect shot whilst lurking in the stadium toilets.

Perfect! He had nailed Oliver Wood and the story was scandalous. The only problem was the guilt. Colin had never been a malicious boy and it went against the grain to upset people when he could help it. The way they had begged him not to release a name, or the shot of her face, had melted his heart. How could he refuse when these people were so in love? Surely it would end their careers. So Colin had dropped his large bonus and complied to their wishes.

The only problem with that was that now he was "THE" photographer. This would have been a good thing, were his boss not demanding that he got the scoop on Oliver again. 

That lead him to the here and now, stood behind a bony looking bush outside Oliver Wood's house, in the pouring rain. He gritted his teeth and suppressed a shiver that was building up at the base of his spine. It was times like these where he wished he hadn't grown out his hair, as it now stuck to his forehead with the rain, making his skin itch. His face was flushed with the chill of the wind and his clothes soaked. Nothing could possibly make his day any better.

After an hour of this hellish torment, Colin gave up. Wiping his forehead with a gloved hand, he stretched his aching limbs and walked up the steps leading to Oliver's house. Then with a growl of frustration, he rapped his fist hard against the wooden panelling. 

The door swung open. 'I wondered how long you were going to just stand out there. We were beginning to worry about your health.'

'Ha ha, Wood,' Colin muttered bitterly. 'I have to at least look like I'm trying. You could have at least come outside and pretended to fly off on your broom!'

'That would have been too easy,' Oliver grinned, 'Come in and make yourself at home.'

'Thanks.'

Colin stepped inside to the luxurious hallway, which danced with heat, and smiled contentedly. Slowly he shrugged off his thick jacket, and toed off his boots. Charming them dry he put them in their place, and then walked into the large sitting room. Here was the best part of the house. It was cosy and cool, not demanding anything of its guests but comfort. He looked round to get a feel of the place and settled himself on the seat near the fire. This was how reporting should be.

'So what brings you to this neck of the woods?' Oliver inquired, settling down opposite him. 'Isn't this a little far from the pub?'

'Stop, you're making my sides split at your wit,' Colin said dryly. 'If you must know I was ordered to come here and watch you for any interesting movement. Just in case your girlfriend were stupid enough to use the front door. The boss does like to take these unnecessary precautions.'

'Hmm,' Oliver mused. 'The only reason you're not casing the back door is because last time Barry nearly robbed you of your manhood.'

'That dog should be sectioned. Anyone would think you were trying to keep people out of your property!' 

Oliver grinned a little and relaxed into his chair. To Colin he seemed settled wherever he was. There was never a moment when the great Oliver Wood didn't look stunning on camera. He had a natural relaxed spark that made him photogenic. 

'You wouldn't by any chance have an exclusive photo shoot would you?' Colin asked as casually as a beg for help could sound. 'It's just that the rent needs paying and I'm running low on funds.'

'Again?!' Oliver stuttered with a shocked face. 

'You are, after all, the man of the moment. I'd get big bucks for a couple of shots of you. It doesn't even have to be anything special. Just something I can use as evidence that I've been working…' Colin said leaning forward, about to lay down the thrust of his argument. 'You do owe me.'

Oliver was silent for a moment. 'Are you threatening to blackmail me?'

'I'm just saying that you owe me a favour. I have helped you so far…' Colin said, in what he hoped was a threatening tone. It wasn't that he wanted to force Oliver into anything, but he was getting desperate. His tired limbs ached with cold and Colin would quite happily never have to take a photo of Oliver ever again. 'If you promise me a photo, I'll promise you my silence.'

'How many shots are we talking here?' Oliver enquired in a voice that was weary. 'What would I be doing in them?'

'I was thinking that maybe we could have one of you sitting right where you are….staring into the fire,' Colin improvised. 'Then another of you with no shirt on – for the ladies – and one of you in the kitchen.'

'I'll compromise to two photos.' 

'Only two…?'

'Don't push your luck Colin.'

**xXx******

'…C, D, E, F…' 

Marietta found that the interview had gone quite well. Then again, she couldn't remember why she'd doubted it would. These things were always the same. If the job required no real usage of brain then looks could be judged, and in her opinion it had been her breasts that had won her this victory.

Having left Cho, Marietta had made her way to the inquiries desk and asked if there were any placements available. She had specified that she wanted simple work – something that wouldn't take too much of her energy up, but pay enough money for her to live on. The receptionist had seemed quite taken aback by her confidence and demands, but put them aside to search for something suitable. 

Personal assistant in Defence had sounded a pleasing title. It was a job title where people would assume you did more then filing. Marietta had translated it instantly to secretary, which was a job she could quite easily satisfy. It wasn't strenuous; she could list the alphabet and dress however she pleased. Perfect.

All that she needed to do was win over the people interviewing. That left her two days to perfect her answers, buy some new clothes and make sure she looked stunning. And that was all it took her. When she turned up for the interview dressed in a low v-neck top, a short, but reasonable skirt and with her hair in loose strawberry ringlets, she knew she had them in the palm of her hand. The female interviewers could see her as headstrong, confident and independent, with the curls adding a sense of vulnerability. The men could see right down her top. It was as simple as that.

Manipulation had always been one of Marietta's favourite sports. It was fun to tease the weaker species, flaunting what they could never have. If it got her what she wanted then what was the harm? Of course Plain Jane Doh sat in the corner, dressed prim and proper with her degree from a Muggle University, would be better qualified, she knew that, but that wasn't what it was all about. It was all about image. Someone who was pretty to look at and reliable at getting the job done to an average standard would attract far more people.

The one problem with the perfect job though had arrived just half an hour after Marietta had started filing case reports. 

'Erm, excuse me, but what are you doing?' 

Marietta turned her head and looked up from the place she was crouched on the floor. At the door way stood an attractive man, tall and dark with a hard, solid figure. His face was quizzical as he glanced at her over the top of his glasses, one eyebrow raised higher then the other. Piercing green eyes met her own and she wanted to give a little shiver of glee, but something about his face was beginning to nag at her memory. It was something small, but the way his dark hair flopped over his forehead in such an appealing manner reminded her of something. She was pretty sure that whatever it was she didn't like.

 'Exploring the moon,' she remarked edgily. 'What does it look like I'm doing?'

'It's just that this is my office, and I don't remember you being here when I left this morning,' the good looking man said with the hint of a smile. 'Unless you were hiding in the cabinet – I must confess to hardly looking it there at all.'

'Oh…' Marietta said with a frown, and rose up from her position near the floor. Absently she pushed the creases from her short skirt, straightening it out between her fingers. If this was to be her boss then she'd better make a good impression. 'I'm your new personal assistant.'

It was his turn to look a little taken aback. 'Personal Assistant?'

'Yes. I applied for the position yesterday and they told me to start today. Is that alright?' she questioned, eyeing his odd look with discomfort. She didn't want to lose this job before it even started.

'I wasn't expecting a new P.A. today, or any other day to be honest,' a smile tilted his lips in a charming manner. 'Now you're here though I guess I can use you.'

'Feel free to use and abuse me in any way you like,' Marietta said with a saucy smile and turned back to the filing cabinet, opening yet another drawer full to the brim with files. 

The man seemed hesitant to respond to such an obvious display of flirtation, and Marietta found herself quite disappointed that he decided to ignore it. At least it made a change to her usual banter of sexual innuendo. Maybe a nice, moral boss was what she needed to pin down a job. After all it had been Jeremy that had got her fired last time.

Jeremy had been the centre of her universe for three months. He was the best looking man she had ever clapped eyes on, and when she did she couldn't help but smile dreamily. Not only was he powerful, in that he was her boss, but he had eyes that could melt the stones of St. Paul's Cathedral. It drove her mad the way he used to toy with her affections, flirting one minute and treating her mean the next. Eventually she'd managed to get him de-robed and that had been an experience she'd never forget. The way he made her feel was like flying free of aid.

The fall had been inevitable. Jeremy, though being perfect in looks, management and bed, was married to a powerful sorceress who looked upon his flings with anger. Jeremy hadn't even considered leaving her for Marietta, and that had hurt. She had tried to keep him tied to her by using sex, but it became boring. There were only so many people she could dress up as that used handcuffs and dirty language. So Jeremy had fired her on grounds of laziness.

Never again would she mix business and pleasure. Well, when she said never she meant just for now. After all, this new boss wasn't exactly ugly and there was something about his stance that demanded she take note.

'So how come you've decided to work in Defence then?' 

'It was a job that was available, that paid well and wouldn't mean I had to use too many brain cells,' Marietta said frankly. 'Even I can use the alphabet.'

'Right…' he replied hesitantly. 'They did tell you that it would be a little bit more then secretary work didn't they?'

Marietta spun round, her eyes flaring slightly. 'I was lead to understand that these would be the terms of my employment. Are you trying to tell me that there's more?'

'I will expect my P.A. to accompany me on apprehensions, have an extensive knowledge of charms and potions, as well as self defence. On top of all of this I would expect you to have all case information at your fingertips. Then of course there's dealing with the other departments involved in apprehensions… That would probably mean meetings with the D.O.I. and leaders of Azkaban. Of course I will also expect secretarial duties to be carried out whilst we're based at the office,' his face was straight laced, with no taint of humour.

Marietta's face fell slightly, her jaw agape at the mere thought at the amount of qualifications. 'Basically you mean I have to partake in the capture of dangerous criminals, who are likely to try and kill me…?'

'That sounds about right.'

'I'm expected to know all of this off by heart?' she gestured towards the filing cabinet.

'Yeah, though I pretty much have it all stored away.'

'And I have to know how to defend myself…from these dangerous killers?'

The man moved his hand up to his hair and pushed his fingers through it slowly. 'To be honest most of them never kill directly. It's the followers you have to be careful of. They're more likely to throw themselves at you like a human bomb.'

'Okay…' Marietta stepped back and leant against the cabinet uneasily. Crossing her arms over her chest, she took a deep breath. 'I defiantly don't remember any of that being mentioned.'

'I realise that at first you may be overwhelmed, but don't worry. Normally nothing ever happens. Well… gets a chance to happen anyway. What I'm trying to say is that you'll get used to it.'

This was defiantly not what she'd expected. Never had she thought that a Personal Assistant would have to be so active. She'd dreamt of afternoons basking in the sun, her feet up on the table as she flicked through a magazine. Instead she had images of lying on the ground – dead as a door nail.

'My last P.A. really got into it. He decided to move up the ranks and become an Auror. In fact he claimed it was an easier like! You'll have to see what you think,' he said with a jaunty smile, as he moved about the room opening drawers.

'How many…erm…apprehensions do you undertake?' she asked cautiously, scared of the answer.

'Not too many. Twelve at the most I'd have to say, but you tend to lose track.'

'Is that an annual figure?'

A deep laugh curled the air to its will in a deep, honeysuckle tone. 'I can see we're going to get on. You have a great sense of humour.'

That was the exact moment that Marietta began to feel the panic building up at the back of her throat. 'I wasn't aware that I had said anything amusing?' she managed to bite out bitterly.

'That's my weekly number… I'm sorry I didn't catch your name?' 

'Marietta Edgecombe,' she replied automatically.

'Harry Potter.'

The room seemed to freeze at that moment. It was the last name she'd expected to hear. Harry Potter – the boy who'd damaged her mentally and stolen some of her memories. Of course he'd argued that it hadn't been his doing, but only when she'd realised that some time was missing. Cho had explained it to her, telling her that it had had to be done in order to save the school. Marietta had been beyond angry. Her actions had been completely justified and, just because this little brat of a boy hadn't had his own way, she'd been made to suffer. 

It didn't matter that time had passed, or that she found him deeply sexy in an annoying way. Marietta hated Harry Potter to the very core of his existence. She didn't care about the number of lives he'd saved. What did those deeds matter when you're an angry teenage girl? 

'I didn't recognise you,' Harry said with an apprehensive smile. 'It's been a long time.'

She didn't know why it surprised her that he was an Auror – he'd always been seeking justice at school. It had been irritating the way he's wander about like a super hero, sucking up all the fame and glory then spitting it out. Once she'd heard him complaining about the taste of fame and how he wished he wasn't The-Boy-Who-Lived. He was arrogant alright, thinking himself to be ordinary like everyone else. No one else seemed to attract trouble like he had. Then again no one else had saved the world. To Marietta he would always be the one to blame for bringing all the trouble to her safe world.

'Yes,' she muttered absently. 

'How have you been?' he asked more out of politeness then genuine concern she assumed.

'Fine.'

'Oh, well that's good to hear.' Harry paused and watched her calmly. 'Have I put you off the job then? I realise that you may not find it… attractive.'

Marietta met his look with a winter cool. 'I wouldn't quit for the world.'


	6. Chapter Five: Dogmatic

**Dictionary**

****

**Dogmatic** _adj_. asserting or imposing personal opinions; intolerantly authoritative; arrogant.

**Chapter Five**

****

There was something really annoying about the way people behaved in shops. Some acted as though they owned the place, muttering about how the customer was always right and criticising the products. Then there were the ones who edged around the shelves uncomfortably, feeling that the world was against them. Others knew what they wanted, handing money across the counter with an appreciative smile. These were not the real people, but the plastic covered aliens who conformed to polite society, pretending to be friends with everyone.

'Is this made from real bat hair? It's just that I have an allergy and the doctor told me that I should avoid contact… My wife thinks it's all an over exaggeration. Then again my wife has never believed me. Just like her mother I guess. This one time they both accused me of having an affair with my secretary. I mean, I told them it was all in their head, but somehow they turned it round,' the man grumbled. 'Me! Affair! I don't think so, but would they have any of it? No! And now I'm allergic to bat hairs.'

Fred Weasley raised an eyebrow, watching the little man's lips move. It wasn't that he meant to be impolite, but he really had no interest in what this man's wife accused him of. In fact he couldn't help but ask himself how a man like this ended up with a wife at all. First there was the whinging tone to his voice, then the out-of-control facial hair, which looked strange on such a bald man. Not to mention his overweight girth and pig like nose. Fred had instantly named him Mr Pig-Face when he'd seen him. It hadn't been a malicious thought, but he had to do something to pass the time of day.

'There could be traces of bat hair due to the nature of production. The likeliness of there actually being any present, however, is slim. Wizards who work with delicate materials like these tend to act with the greatest of caution.' Fred smiled his shopkeeper smile.

'So the answer to that is yes then?' Mr Pig-Face grunted unpleasantly.

'Yes sir,' said Fred with a hint of annoyance in his tone.

'Oh…'

This was one of those customers that really irked him. It was the needy, annoying customer, who believed that the person serving them had nothing better to do. Not that Fred did have anything particularly pressing. In fact Fred hardly ever had anything other then assisting on the shop floor to do.

'Well I think I'll leave it then,' a defiant Mr Pig-Face murmured.

'As you wish,' Fred grinned in what he hoped was an eager smile. 'If you just leave it with me then I should be able to check with the suppliers for you. I could probably have the answer for you in…three days.'

Having pleased another customer, and seen them on their way, Fred let himself relax. Business hadn't been booming recently, which was probably due to it being term time. The kind of customers they catered for were children, or the young at heart. You didn't find many of the older generation looking for practical jokes. Therefore, the shop was empty once again.

'Fred! Have we got any Canary Crèmes in stock?' George's voice bellowed across the shop.

'I'll check the book,' Fred shouted behind him, as he drew out a large dusty book. 'We're down to the last dozen packets.'

Silence followed that statement. Fred assumed his brother was adding it to the orders list. It was a process they went through once a month during the quiet season, where they would look at the stock levels and buy enough ingredients to keep them in supply for another few weeks. Boring, dull and unsociable didn't even begin to describe stock analysis.

Perching on a stool, Fred took a deep breath and gazed out the window. The counter was at the back of the shop, with shelves breaking up the view of Diagon Alley. People were milling about, baskets clasped in determined hands as they tried to remember what was on the shopping list. On either side of these people were buildings trying to sell themselves with tempting displays. From where he sat Fred could clearly see Hermione's window.

Hermione, he thought to himself with a faint smile. She was an unusual creature. Every time he came close to her, she would become agitated and irritable. Her skin would flame bright red, like she'd been too long out in the sun. Then her defences would become disabled; her favourite weapon being rendered incapable of speech. Hermione would temporarily lose her language whenever he was around. She'd become clumsy and foolish, which made her all the more…

'FRED!' George bellowed. 'When was the last stock list compiled?'

Marriage had changed George. Instead of being a fun, easy going character, he'd become…anal. Everything had to be perfect these days, including the paper work. It was no longer good enough that they were running a profitable business, which consumers loved. The company had to be running like clockwork.

'I don't know!' Fred shouted.

George had dreams of having a chain of joke shops, all in his family name. He wanted to build an empire that everyone would be proud of. The stigma attached to the Weasley's was slowly beginning to fade, and that was the way George wanted it to remain. This business was no longer a selfish venture, but a determining factor in his future child's lifestyle.

'Will you look for me?' shouted an irritable George. 'Will you just this once pull your finger out and do something useful!'

Fred sighed heavily and reopened the book. He loved his brother very much, and he wasn't too much of a man to admit that. This man had made something out of his life. Inadvertently though, George had disconnected himself from his twin. Fred no longer felt like he knew his brother – there was a woman shaped gap between them.

'Nineteen days ago!'

Silence again followed this statement. George was probably contemplating on whether this was too long a period to pass, Fred thought with another sigh.

His thoughts went back to Hermione. This had been happening a lot lately, making him lose his concentration. There was something about the way she fawned over him that was appealing. Of course he'd never been oblivious to the power he seemed to hold over her, but only recently had he begun to feel…

'You really should do this ever ten and a half days,' George said. He had moved from the stock room and was now stood behind Fred, his eyes surveying the shop. 'I'm worried that we may be leaving these things too late.'

'How is the lovely Katie then?' Fred asked with a tired smile.

The grin that broke across his brother's face could have cracked the world in half. 'Mrs Weasley is amazing thank you.'

The wedding had been a couple of months ago, with Katie Bell becoming the newest Mrs Weasley of the family. Having been on the Quidditch team as a Chaser, George had made great friends with her. There had been a time when she would have scorned anyone for even suggesting more between them, but now they were practically inseparable. She'd left Hogwarts with good qualifications and gone on to coach there for a living.

There was one problem with Katie though – she'd never been able to forgive Fred for giving her the worst nosebleed known to man. It hadn't been his fault that she'd eaten the wrong end of a Nosebleed Nougat. He'd even gone so far as to justify himself in the Best Man's speech at the wedding. Katie had laughed jovially with them all, but he could tell she wasn't overly happy with the situation.

'I thought you'd say that,' Fred beamed. 'You're a lucky man.'

'Mark my words, I know what I am,' replied George with a far off look in his eyes. 'You could be the same if you just stuck to one girl.'

Fred fiddled with a button on his shirt aimlessly. 'You know I have problems sticking to just one girl at a time. Life is too short after all, not to window shop for the perfect person.'

'Maybe, but I wish you'd just settle down for at least a month.'

'I'm sure I will one day.'

'What about Hermione?' George said with a sly grin.

'What about her?' Fred asked panic beginning to rise in the back of his throat.

George smiled knowingly and walked round to the other side of the counter. Casually he lent his elbows against the surface and faced his brother. 'We both know she is absolutely crazy about you. She can hardly speak whenever you're about.'

'It's just a school girl crush George. I'm sure she'll grow out of it eventually,' he paused with a smile. 'Not that I can't see why she'd want me so badly.'

'Your problem is that you have too big an ego. Remember that you look exactly like me! So if you're such a sex god, then so am I.'

'I don't think so brother,' Fred laughed.

'Anyway,' he said seriously. 'Hermione isn't a school girl anymore. Maybe you should just take her out on a date. You might find that you like it.'

'She isn't my type.'

'Fred, every woman is your type,' he deadpanned with style.

Fred eyed his brother suspiciously. He hated it when people tried to couple him up with girls. It never worked out when he didn't call them back. Hermione was something different though. She was his friend and a date would change everything between them. It would crush her if he realised too late that he wasn't interested. No. There was definitely no use in shagging too close to home. Ron would never forgive him.

'I don't think it would work,' he said defiantly.

George looked a little uncomfortable. 'It's just that Katie is set on finding you a girl… We're having some guests over for dinner, and she thought it would be a good idea if Hermione were your date for the evening.'

'Your wife has set me up?' Fred asked with a pained expression.

'There's nothing wrong with that is there?' George said indignantly. 'I think it's a good idea.'

'No George. A good idea would be world peace. Fixing me up with Ron's ex-girlfriend is asking for trouble. Not only would it get her hopes up, but increase the likeliness of me hurting her more then I already have!'

'Well it's too late. We're expecting you at seven and Katie told Hermione that you would pick her up.'

'Great George! That's just great.' Fred hung his head and squeezed his eyes tight. 'I hope you realise what you're putting us both through…?'

'Hopefully a relationship with sex involved?'

'I don't think so.'

**xXx**

Take deep breaths, Ginny thought to herself. Remain calm and don't say anything you might regret. You know what Malfoy's like. He probably didn't mean any of the things he said. All you have to do is rise above his petty attitude and remain aloof. This is your home. You will not be intimidated within it. Just remember, deep breaths!

It had been five hours since she'd decided to storm out of the office, being unable to handle the testosterone flying around the room. Since her sudden exit she hadn't known where to go. If Malfoy were to have a sudden flash of guilt, then he would look for her at home. That meant she had to go somewhere where he wouldn't even think of.

This train of thought had led Ginny to a Muggle library in the heart of London. It was comfortable and quiet, allowing her to do some work on her report. The silence of this place had not taken away the voices in her head however. No amount of work could silence her own thoughts. They danced a harsh tango in her head, forcing themselves into connection with everything she did to hush them.

Draco Malfoy was to blame for this. Usually Ginny wouldn't allow herself to be so wound up by him. It was in his blood to be devious and unfeeling and there was nothing she could do about it. Today though, he had managed to push all the right buttons. Seeing her at her most vulnerable, moved to vomiting by her worst fears, he had warmed to her. Something about the way he's tried to be nice had comforted her. Draco had patted her back reassuringly, making her feel almost special to have such attention. Then regret must have kicked in, the inbred poison that made her want to beat him over the head, because he had lashed out.

Again, usually this wouldn't have mattered to her. She would smile sweetly, knowing that it would really get up his nose, and ignore the fact he was treating her like filth. It had been the tenderness that made it all worse today. He had seemed so…

Ginny took a deep breath, steadying her frayed nerves.

All she'd wanted to do was help him. It was bad enough that Ron had punched him. If he'd only known what Ginny knew, then maybe her brother wouldn't have been so heavy handed. Maybe he would have stepped back, respected Draco for having the grit to keep going, and shaken him by the hand. Ron was never going to know though. Ginny only knew because she'd seen it first hand; the horror of Azkaban.

Azkaban had this way of breaking you down. It was almost as if it could sense life, and then wouldn't stop until it destroyed it. Hands seemed to leap out from the brick work, tearing through the exterior and gripping at your heart. Even breathing became laboured when faced with this colossal prison. "Bricks and mortar, with a splash of magic", Draco had informed her on her first visit. "If you make it more then it is…it will consume you".

That had been the day when her perception of everything had been warped. The men that sat here were dead. Their pulses may still beat, their mind still ticking over slowly, but there was nothing about them that said they were living.

Lucius Malfoy was just one of these men, whose lives had become waiting for death. It was this man to whom Ginny had paid the honour of her first trip to Azkaban. It was because of this man that Ginny never allowed Draco to go alone when the occasion arose. This was a man who had made the lives of everyday people a living misery – he'd brought forth a war and destroyed their families. Most of all though he had driven his own son to maturity long before it was due.

Ginny had been nervous that day, even now she could recall the butterflies that had nibbled at her insides. It was her first assignment and she was eager to be a professional. There had been an escape from Azkaban, leading the entire system into uproar. A very dangerous man was on the loose and there was no telling what he would do next. So the D.O.I. had been called in to question all the prisoners. It seemed a simple enough task, but Ginny hadn't realised how emotionally taxing it would be. Not only were the occupants of Azkaban zombies, but unwilling to answer anything asked. At least that's how it was at the beginning…

That had been the day that Ginny had realised how dangerous Draco really was. Initially she'd considered him to be cold, but that was the complete opposite to his true nature. The only thing that masked it was his patience and control, otherwise he was highly reactive. Slowly his questioning had picked up pace, he was bombarding the prisoners with question after question. It had been an amazing process to watch. Draco would begin off slowly, with easy questions related to the crimes. Slowly this would move on to more personal questions – he would begin to get under their skin, forcing some of them to tears. What surprised her most was his total lack of…she couldn't place what it was exactly he lacked, but it was something. It was as if he was the judge and jury, inching his way into their mind and leaving nothing unturned. The tone of his voice was the thing that had scared her most. Cold, sharp and unforgiving it had haunted her memories.

Of course they had had to interview Lucius. There was no escaping it. Draco knew this, but nothing could have cracked him, or made him leave one stone unturned. Lucius had entered, rough as anything. There was no sparkle of life to his eyes; that was often the first thing to leave them. His long pale blond hair was straggly and hung over his face like a veil. Drool slipped slowly down his chin, disgusting and unruly. His eyes twitched this way and that, searching out the hidden enemy that only he could see. When he sat down Ginny could see that his whole body was shivering, like he was too cold.

_'Where were you last night?' Draco had questioned, not looking anywhere except at his papers._

_Silence. _

_Draco flipped over a sheet of paper, scanning his fathers files nonchalantly. 'You and Honky used to get on quite well before you turned him in to the Ministry, didn't you?'_

_'Draco, I've told you not to play with Mudblood lovers…' Lucius snarled eerily, his fists clenched. _

_'Mother wouldn't have liked you to be keeping secrets from me,' Draco had offered as a threat. He leant forward on his elbows and looked straight into his father's face. 'Where were you last night, daddy?'_

_'Draco…' Ginny had whispered cautiously. 'We can leave it here.'_

_'Are you going to take orders from a Mudblood loving woman?' Lucius challenged slyly. 'I thought you would have learnt by now to treat women as they deserve. A regular smack in the face until they understand who is boss and maybe a curse or two to teach them a lesson. It's the only way to make them understand. Only way.'_

_'I know how you work,' Draco whispered. 'It isn't going to work this time.'_

_'Do you want to have sex with her? Is this why you're pretending she's your equal?' Lucius murmured, his eyes flicking between Draco and Ginny. 'You'll never be my sons equal. You're nothing but a dirty little Weasley, who should have died in the Chamber of Secrets helping our Lord free!'_

_With that he lurched forward like a maddened dog. Draco reacted quickly and brought his fist out, punching him hard on the nose. Lucius fell back, clutching his face and whimpering._

_'WHERE WERE YOU LAST NIGHT?' Draco shouted angrily. 'Answer the question!'_

_'Like father, like son. Like father, like son,' Lucius crooned, chuckling. 'You tried to deny it but I know who you are…I know who you are!'_

Lucius had been quickly removed from the situation and taken back to his cell. Ginny could remember the shaken feeling that had erupted from her body. She had been unable to stop it and Draco had grabbed her hard.

_'Look at me!' Draco demanded. _

_Ginny covered her face with her hand, her eyes beginning to fill with uncontrollable tears. 'Why me? Why me? Why me?' she had muttered almost unconsciously._

_'Look at me! Now!' _

_So Ginny had looked at him. His eyes had been stony, but somehow had centred her. There was a tiredness that echoed through his entire body. Somewhere from the back of her mind, she could hear his voice soothing her…_

Ginny shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. This was not the time to be remembering this. In fact she wished she could erase that memory from her mind. It had been more disturbing than the others. It had made her feel like she was back in the Chamber, lying half dead on the floor. She had been so incredibly lost and yet in that moment she had pitied Draco. Privately she had sworn to never let him go through that alone.

Sitting on her couch, a glass of wine in one hand, she felt far removed from the pale terrors of Azkaban. Here she was safe from everything but her own foolish emotions. Desperately she wiped at her eye, willing herself not to cry again. This was not the time, nor the place, she reminded herself.

The front door opened with a crash, making Ginny turn her head sharply. Looked like Draco was home and he wasn't happy. Quickly she finished her glass of wine and placed it empty upon the carpet. She scooped up a book that had been lying idle, and turned to a page.

'Weasley?' Draco called from the hallway.

'I'm in the sitting room,' she replied, reminding herself that she was angry with him.

A couple of seconds later and he was at the door. She glanced at him quickly. With his robes open, shirt hanging out of his trousers and tie half undone, he looked quite vulnerable. Pushing this thought away, she looked back at her book. There was no way she was forgiving him so easily. No. There would be a fight.

'I realise that you're…' he paused, as if seeking the right words. 'I know what Azkaban is like.'

'I'm sorry,' Ginny frowned. 'Was that an apology?'

He regarded her in the dismissive way he usually did. 'You know what it is.'

'I don't think I do, Malfoy,' she lingered on his name menacingly. 'You'll have to explain it to me seeing as I'm obviously not intelligent enough.'

Draco pulled his robe off and slung it over the arm of the couch, before slumping down next to her. Slowly he removed his tie completely, and then with meaning threw it onto the floor. He ran a hand through his hair, elicited a sigh and leaned back wearily.

'Oh so you agree with me then?' Ginny said irritably. 'I'm not intelligent enough! Well it's nice to know what you really think of me.'

'Shut up Weasley.'

'Oh, so now you're just going to avoid this conversation! Coward!' she slammed her book down with a force. 'Not only do you accuse me of not being good enough for the job, but that I'm not even good enough for a conversation.'

'I never said you weren't intelligent enough,' he sighed. 'I simply don't want to have an argument with you right now. I'm sure anything I said now would be twisted round to suit your mood anyway.'

'So you're not even going to apologise for being a complete arse?' Ginny ranted, beginning to feel hysteria edging into her words.

'I have already expressed how I feel on the matter.'

'How does "I know what Azkaban is like" constitute an apology?!'

'You know very well what it means,' Draco looked at her. 'It means that understand.'

Ginny scowled at him and pulled herself up from the couch. Turning to face him, she placed her hands on her hips. 'You really don't value me at all do you? Even when you know that you were wrong, you can't bring yourself to say sorry to me!'

Draco regarded her with a lazy smile. 'Oh so you think this is personal?'

'Of course it's personal! It always is with you!'

'Hmmm,' he leaned forward and looked up at her.

'Don't…' Ginny started.

'Have I ever told you that you are incredibly annoying?' he asked slowly. 'I mean I'm here trying to keep the peace, and all you want to do is have an argument.'

'Well if I'm so annoying, you know where you can go!'

'I believe it has something to do with where the sun doesn't shine?' he smiled. Suddenly his hand shot out and pulled her back onto the couch. He gave her a quick shove so she was sat back and patted her thigh gently. 'Calm down.'

'Don't tell me to calm down!' she went to stand up, but was quickly pulled back down.

'Ginny,' he said turning to face her. 'I'm sorry. Happy now?'

'No,' she growled, crossing her arms across her chest.

'I didn't think you would be.'

'What's that supposed to mean?!' Ginny screeched indignantly.

'You know what it means. You're never satisfied unless there's a fight. Which, I would like to add, I'm not in the mood for,' Draco said with the slightest of smiles curling his lip.

'Well what are you in the mood for?' Ginny threw back, only realising its connotations once it had left her mouth.

There was defiantly a smile there now. It was a cross between humoured and predatory, Ginny decided as she felt her heart begin to race. Possibly that had been the wrong question. Slowly he leaned forward, until their noses were almost touching.

'Are you sure you want to know the answer to that one?' Draco said softly. 'I possibly think you're a little out of your depth.'

Ginny gulped visibly. She could feel her cheeks begin to go red. Why was it that he had turned this round so she felt she should be apologising? How did he manage to make her feel so…uncomfortable?

'Well you would, wouldn't you…' she said softly.

'Is that a challenge?' Draco asked, his eyebrows arching.

Looking into his eyes now, she knew exactly what he wanted. The question was whether she was willing to ruin everything by letting him show her. He was probably right – she was out of her depth. Her eyes took in his open face, pondering whether in fact it was a challenge. Did she want to be seduced? No. Yes. No. Yes…

'Hmm…' Draco pulled back. 'I didn't think it was.'

Standing up he stretched. Throwing her a sideways glance, he smiled slightly. 'Don't worry. I won't mention it again.'

Ginny swallowed and nodded absently. Bollocks.

**xXx**

Bitter End was pulsating with life when Luna arrived. The music was pumping so loud it made her body tingle with bass. Bodies were, yet again, crammed into the small nightclub like sardines, each one moving to a different beat. Some people would have looked upon it as beautiful chaos, but Luna wasn't so certain.

Nightclubs had never been a big favourite with Luna. Ever since she had been a student, she had felt an inert fear of being trapped with so many people. It wasn't that it was a fire hazard – which it was – but because she didn't like to feel that everyone was judging her. She had been perfectly aware what people were thinking when they saw her, and she had tried to pass it off as individuality. However it still made her feel ever so nervous, even now when she was considered something of a celebrity. People actually wanted her to be quirky now!

Tonight was important though. Too important to worry about what other people were thinking of her. What Luna needed was Dwayne Oarlocks. This was all she needed to get a pay rise and the respect of other journalists at the Daily Prophet. Her readers deserved such an exclusive and so did the paper itself.

The only problem Luna had with this was the fact that Dwayne had termed the interview as a "date". Even that word had had the effect of giving her butterflies. Or wind, she thought, one or the other. If it had simply been an interview, then Luna would have felt much more comfortable. Her position would have been clearly one of a business nature. The word "date" implied something a lot more personal. It implied affection, lingering looks, blushing, kissing and sex.

It wasn't that Luna had a problem with sex, but the thought of someone wanting her in that way made her squeamish. Why was it that people had to be so consumed by nature? Why couldn't they just rise above it?

'Hey,' a voice suddenly caught her attention. 'I was wondering when you'd get here.'

Looking up, Luna was greeted by the half-smiling face of Dwayne Oarlocks. It was quite amazing how tall he really was. Possibly it was the nest of jet black, scraggly hair that attributed to his height, she considered as she gazed up at him. Or maybe it was just because she was short. She had once read an article about a rock star that used a potion to make him appear tall when in fact he was 5 ft tall. Apparently some men used it on other places for…

'Are those for me?' Dwayne continued, his smile lifting another fraction up his face.

'Oh…yes…' Luna said with a bright smile, holding up a bunch of bright red poppies. 'It's to say thank you for offering me more time for the interview.'

'I believe the pleasure is all mine. It isn't everyday an attractive girl such as you allows herself to be bullied into a date with me…even if it is on the pretence of an interview, which I'm aware it is,' his teeth glinted slightly, whilst shadows played about his face. 'Don't worry though. I won't bite.'

'Biting is the least of my worries,' Luna breezed.

Dwayne raised an eyebrow and Luna observed that every part of his face inched into position. There was no case of instant emotion, but a slow calculated curl of lip, or twitch of nose. It must be the constant exposure to photography, Luna contemplated as she watched his face carefully.

'Shall we go sit…eat?' he asked with an inclination of his head. 'It's just that I haven't eaten all day and I'm famished.'

'You're the boss!' Luna squeaked looking around her wearily hoping no one would bang into her.

When they were seated and had browsed the menu, Dwayne ordered for them and leant back in his chair. He regarded with a critical eye, as if trying to work something complicated out. Luna thought it might be her choice of dress – today she'd gone for a long skirt, slash-necked top, both black, and a purple robe. It probably made her look like she had no body in all this darkness and was in fact just a floating head. The thought made her snort gently.

'What's so funny?' Dwayne questioned, his face systematically moving into the correct positioning.

'I was just thinking how I must look like a floating head from where you're sitting,' she giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. If she let rip with her laughter she would surely lose the interview. Some described it as bordering insanity itself.

Dwayne gave a slight nod, making sure not to make too much movement. 'Well I guess the same could be said for me.'

Nodding vigorously, she bit on her lip to suppress the bout of hysteria about to take over.

'You fascinate me,' Dwayne suddenly said, his eyes searching her face. 'I'd love to get to know you better.'

Luna frowned slightly, allowing her forehead to crumple. 'That's very nice of you to say, but my readers would much rather hear about you. After all I'm not the celebrity!'

'I tell you what,' Dwayne said softly, leaning forward in his seat. 'Why don't we make an exchange? I'll give you an exclusive, if you let me find out a bit more about you. After all I feel that if we're going to be working together, we might as well know the basics.'

'That seems fair enough.'

Leaning down, Luna scooped her bag up from the floor and rummaged around in it. Within this bag were the contents of her life, from her note pad to the antiseptic ointment she used on her hangnails. If ever there was a crisis, Luna was fully prepared. This though was not a crisis. This was a job. Already she could feel herself becoming uncomfortable by the crossed situations.

'I'm a great believer in ladies going first. So tell me something about yourself. Anything… Just something that will help me figure out what's going on in that head of yours,' Dwayne said with a slight smile. 'By all accounts it seems fairly complex, so please spare the fool a thought when telling me. Long words were never my forte.'

'Well…' Luna scrunched up her face in thought. 'I went to Hogwarts, where the amazing Harry Potter saved the world. He had this friend called Ron and he was also amazing. In a different way of course… Ron was always getting things wrong, whereas Harry couldn't put a foot out of place. Anyway I liked them both very much. I was never keen on Hermione, but I'm sure she had her place…somewhere.'

'That doesn't tell me anything about you…'

'These are the important people though. The people whose stories mean something to everyone. No one is likely to forget a good tale or heroic action, but they are likely to forget mine. Sometimes I even forget mine, so doesn't that show something?' she gestured with her hands. Why couldn't he see that her life was nothing when compared to some of the things she could say about her friends?

'Here's where the dilemma lies,' Dwayne leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. 'I don't want to know about them. If I wanted to know about Harry Potter I could pick up a newspaper or book. What I'm interested in is finding out about you. You're life is far more real to me then any demon or monster.'

Luna sighed. 'Then you are obviously deranged.'

Dwayne laughed. It was a laugh that implied being completely laid back, whilst at the same time rejecting that he was deranged. 'You've spent too long writing about other people that you've forgotten who you are.'

'I know who I am. I'm Luna Lovegood, reporter for the Daily Prophet. I live in Diagon Alley above a printing shop. I have a large family. My father owns…'

'Yes, but what about the bits in between?! I want to know your opinions, your views. I'll even settle for knowing how you take your coffee!' A grin lit up Dwayne's face. 'Please?'

'I still think you are deranged and possibly need some psychiatric help.'

'Indulge me.'

A sigh escaped her lips heavily. Why was this man insisting on being so difficult? Wasn't it enough that she was here with him? There was no need to get so personal just because he didn't understand the way she thought. People could hardly ever accept the different – the personality that didn't fit their own norm. If she wanted to engross herself in the lives of others she would. If she wanted to be open, friendly, kind, honest and understanding then she would. Right now what she wanted to be was a journalist.

'I don't like the way people judge me,' she said after some consideration. 'If you must know I find it rather rude.'

'Don't you judge people in your column?' he questioned with interest. 'Don't you ever see something you don't like and share your opinion with everyone else?'

'I also don't like silly questions,' Luna replied, taking a sip from her glass of water.

'What do you like?'

'I like what I like,' she said with a half smile. 'I would have thought that was obvious.'

'Which is…?' Dwayne asked, confused.

'Getting a job done right. Making no mistakes. Providing my readers with what they want,' she reeled off on her fingers. 'Also spelling. Spelling is very important to me.'

They lapsed into silence. Luna was under the impression however that there were many things left unsaid. She didn't like that people could say nothing when they had at their fingertips a beautiful, curvaceous, expressive language. Instead they would sit in silence, allowing themselves to become disconnected with the world. That's what the society was suffering from – a total lack of communication. It would be so much easier in life if people said what they wanted instead of some half truth. Surely it was better to have the truth out there rather than pent up?

'I think I have the perfect headline for you,' Dwayne finally said. 'I think you've deserved one for letting me delve into your mind.'

'Was that sarcasm?' Luna questioned wearily. 'Because that is another thing I loathe.'

'Not at all,' he said with a sincerity that touched her heart. 'Your company has been refreshing. You've treated me like any other person and for that I thank you. It's not often that someone can make you feel like you belong in this world, rather then high up on a pedestal.'

Luna smiled, feeling something inside her begin to twinge. It was a familiar feeling and one that took her by surprise. It wasn't often that the butterflies got the better of her…

'Are you ready for this?' he leaned forward secretively. 'It's a good one…I'm part vampire.'

Pursing her lips she regarded him for a couple of seconds. 'Yes, I can see that.'

'You're not shocked.'

'It would take a lot to shock me.'


	7. Chapter Six: Escape

****

Dictionary

'Escape _verb _**(-ping) - 1. **get free. **2. **leak.** 3.** avoid punishment etc.** 4.** get free of. **5.** elude, avoid.'

****

Chapter Six

Oh Merlin. One more minute of this purgatory and she was going to have to kill herself. Well…maybe that was a little bit drastic. After all was spending time with her friends supposed to make her want to commit suicide? Somehow she doubted it. She should be happy, content and…not nearly so uncomfortable as she was at that exact moment.

Looking back at the chain of events leading up to this moment, Hermione wondered where the fault was that led her to feel so retched. When Katie Weasley had owled her with a proposal for dinner everything had seemed hunky-dory. Firstly she wouldn't have to hunt the supermarkets for a frozen meal and a tin of cat food, which would make a change from her usual monotonous routine. Then there was the chance of meeting up with all her friends and having a good chat. It was a chance to catch up on all the latest news. Was Bill going to pop the question to Fleur? Did Molly really want to move to Spain to catch more sun? Who had left their laundry in the oven that one time a couple of years ago?!

Oh and there was the added bonus of getting to spend time with Fred.

Having instantly accepted Hermione then spent half an hour reorganising the bookshelves in the shop, whilst convincing herself that she wasn't selfish enough to only be going for precious moments with Fred. It was terrible feeling guilty about having an ulterior to dine with some old friends. They were practically her family, for Merlin's sake! She shouldn't need to be making excuses to herself. It shouldn't need to be done.

This had then be followed by three frustrating hours stood in front of her wardrobe trying to find something to wear. It had to be attractive, yet look like she wasn't trying at the same time. It also had to be smart, as she was a guest to dinner, and yet casual at the same time because she was around old friends. Agonising, was the only word that Hermione could use to sum up the way she was feeling. That and perhaps shameful. It never used to be in her nature to spend so long labouring over what she was going to wear. Her philosophy used to be that people would see her and not what she was wearing - her personality was far superior to any form of fashionable design. Unfortunately that thought had abandoned her. When it came to Fred, her brain didn't appear to function correctly.

There had been a time when Hermione had considered herself to be above such fussing. She had been practical, hard working and professional. To a certain degree this was still true, but it was when she thought she'd be seeing Fred that it all started to tumble down. He made all her insecurities seem magnified to the point of paranoia. Dizzying thoughts would cram into her head; what if he finally noticed her? It made her hate herself for being so foolish about one man. Clothes could not change how one person felt about you.

Fred had never showed any signs of interest. In his eyes she was her brothers friend from school. Someone who spent time in the house, but was ultimately just a guest…a passing phase. Nothing she did seemed enough to draw his attention. Of course there was the banter…

Hope was possibly one of the most crushing things. There was never any signs that he did not like her. He never seemed repulsed by her presence, or avoided conversing with her whenever possibly. They would talk at length about all kinds of things, from the length of Ron's hair to the state of the economic structure of the wizarding industries. He would smile and flirt with her on occasion, but it was always more friendly then romantic. Yet it gave her a glimpse of their imaginary future together. They would stay up late at night with mugs of hot chocolate, and talk about the universe whilst snuggling together in front of the fire. Then they would go to bed and waste the night in maximum sin.

Sinning with Fred was a thought that made Hermione tingle all over. It was this feeling that drove her to changing her clothes several times before settling on the first thing she'd tried on - a black knee-length dress, with a v-shaped neckline, that was elegant yet casual enough. It was another thing that had always seemed banal to Hermione, yet it seemed to be a recurring pattern.

Whilst looking at her reflection in the mirror and deliberating on whether to wear her hair up or leave it loose, there was a loud knock on the door. Glancing at her watch she had wondered why on earth Fred would turn up this early. It was only when she reached the door that she realised not everyone who came to visit would be Fred.

'I really have to stop this!' she had scolded herself as she unlocked the door.

On the doorstep stood a downtrodden looking Ginny. At the time she had smiled at the thought of how close she'd been to guessing who was at the door. Same gene pool!

__

'Hey Hermione,' Ginny said with a half-hearted smile. 'You look nice tonight. Mind if I come in for a little while? I promise I won't be too long…It's just I really need someone to talk to. I feel like I'm going to implode and…'

'Come in,' Hermione grinned, cutting her friend off.

The instant Ginny had walked into Hermione's flat, her eyes widened. The entire space was open plan due to Hermione's fear of being attacked. A lot of things had happened during her time at Hogwarts and though she denied being paranoid, there were times when she couldn't keep the thoughts at bay. The deep sense that someone was watching her, poised with a wand, often woke her late at night. Her greatest fear was that she wouldn't see it coming. The knife would be between her shoulder blades before she could even scream… Then she would die alone.

'Don't tell me,' Ginny said with a sideways glance. 'You tried on everything in your wardrobe and decided on the first thing you had tried? From this I can deduce one thing. This is often an error made by those who are about to meet someone of the opposite sex. I can only think that you, Miss Granger, have a very important date tonight. From this mess, and my background research on you, I can also deduce that there is only one man you would make the…effort for.'

'I don't know what you're talking about!' Hermione's face flushed several shades of red.

'My lazy brother is not worth it, you know? If he hasn't already seen you for the fantastic, amazing, talented witch you are…well he needs a good slap for starters,' Ginny whispered the last bit, her face looking tired. At the time Hermione had thought nothing of it, but reflecting back it were as if she was talking about herself.

Ginny turned to face her and smiled. 'I'm sorry. It's just I've not had the greatest of days. I really needed someone to talk to, but I can see that you're busy.'

'No! It's fine. All I'm doing is trying to fix my hair… Katie invited me round for dinner, and Fred is supposed to be picking me up in 40 minutes, which leaves us plenty of time to get to the bottom of this problem.'

'Who said it was a problem?' Ginny defensively demanded.

'Now, Ginny, let's be rational. People don't normally come over looking upset and asking to talk, if there isn't a problem. You should know by now from all the times I've come round,' Hermione laughed, running a hand through her hair and checking the clock on the wall. 'So what's wrong?'

'I think my lodger made an advance upon me.'

Hermione's eyes widened slightly and she gave her friend a concerned look. 'Malfoy?'

'Yes. My lodger.'

'I take it we're not using his name?'

'I just…' Ginny paused and fiddled with the corner of her jumper. 'I just didn't want to say it out loud in case I misunderstood the situation. I wouldn't want you to jump off the deep end and go accusing him, for him to turn around and give you a dirty look.'

'Malfoy always gives dirty looks to me, Ginny. Did he…' Hermione's forehead creased in thought. 'Did he do anything you didn't want him to?'

'When I said "advances" I didn't mean assault. He simply suggested that he wanted to sleep with me. At least I think that's what he suggested…'

__

There was a silence. Ginny seemed unable to make eye contact with Hermione, who stepped closer and put an arm around her shoulders. 'I hope you told him where to get off,' she said softly.

'That's not really the problem. The problem is…well…I think I might have, just for a split second, wanted to…well you know…with him,' Ginny said as she closed her eyes. 'Just for one moment he was everything I wanted.'

At the time Hermione hadn't quite understood how anyone could find Malfoy attractive, in the heat of the moment or otherwise. She'd offered a couple of comforting thoughts but it seemed that Ginny was more upset about her own reaction to the proposal. It wasn't that Malfoy had done anything she saw as indecent, but because she'd wanted to, for a split second, take him up on the offer she was confused. Hermione was just relieved that Ginny had decided it had been a mistake. She had decided that this was simply a passing crush that wouldn't survive through to morning.

With that behind her, and Ginny out the front door, Hermione had set about pulling and pushing at bits of hair, finally deciding to leave it down. There was no need to make a fuss over dinner after all. A dinner with friends. Just because you happen to be madly in lust with one of them doesn't change anything, she reassured herself.

'Oi Granger!' a voice had hollered from outside. 'I'm starving! Come on!'

Shaking herself, Hermione realised that she had gone off into a little dream world of her own. The door was creaking under the blows of someone's fist and apparently he was hungry. It had taken her a couple of seconds, but eventually she realised that Fred was waiting for her. Grabbing her robes, she ran to the door and…

Now she was in a living nightmare. Squished in between Katie's older brother and Fred, Hermione felt like a spare part. On one hand she was nice and close to Fred but on the other she was equally close to Elliot, a man who made wrestlers look petite. It wasn't that he was fat in any way, it was that he was built like a shed. A very large shed. Wearing a tuxedo. The kind of shed that takes up the entire garden, and has the ability to loom above everything.

'So Hermione, what is it you do?' Elliot squeaked at her from a great height.

It also just happened to be sods law that Elliot was the campest man Hermione had ever met. His voice was so incredibly feminine that it even put her to shame, yet at the same time it appeared that he was being set up with her. Katie kept smiling over at them from the other side of the table in an encouraging way that was beginning to disturb Hermione. She did not want to be lumbered with Elliot, as nice as he seemed. It was just that she didn't go in for the…built type.

'Hermione owns a book shop,' George entered into the conversation. 'Lovely little place, you'd like it there. Lots of…well…books really!'

Katie had laughed as wives often do at their husbands, whilst giving him a pat that seemed to dismiss his comment. It was a pat that said "Forgive my husband, he doesn't get out much". From where Hermione sat it was definitely Katie who wore the trousers in this relationship. Which was saying a lot seeing as she was practically sitting knee to knee with the people opposite her.

Being newly wed, Katie and George didn't go in for furniture. It had cost them enough to acquire their own tiny little house, and now it was taking a fair bit to keep them financially afloat. With Katie out of work and George ploughing most of his profit back into the business, it seemed that luxuries such as furniture were unnecessary. After all, they had each other and that was enough.

The romantic part of Hermione couldn't help but smile, whilst the more cynical and realistic side was resentful at the lack of a decently sized table. If you're going to have guests over, she inwardly seethed, don't invite more than two other people for dinner! Not only was she uncomfortable physically, but the evident amount of matchmaking going on was making her unbelievably awkward. She couldn't talk to either Fred or Elliot without getting strange looks from the married couple. At least the food wasn't too bad…

''Mione?' Fred whispered in her ear, dragging her away from her vexations. 'Is it just me or is this the most frightfully dull time you've ever spent with twins, a psychopathic wife and a human wall?'

Covering her mouth with a hand, Hermione attempted to hide a smile.

'What'd you say that we grab the pudding and make an escape out the kitchen window?' he continued softly. 'By the time they notice we'll be over the fence and half way back to yours.'

There was something ever so tempting about this offer. Maybe it was because she was trying to eat noodles with a spoon. Maybe it was because her thigh had gone to sleep from the pressure of Elliot's gargantuan mass pressing against her in the small space. Maybe it was because if she had to make any more small talk her head would implode. Or maybe, and she had a sneaking suspicion that this was the real reason, it was because Fred was asking her to escape with him.

Leaning in close to Fred she could smell his cologne. It was earthy and filled her nostrils. All she wanted to do was stay close to that warm, relaxing scent and not have to listen to Elliot discussing how he really liked stars. 'Back garden. Three minutes,' she said under her breath.

'Excuse me Katie?' Hermione politely caught the attention of her hostess. 'Would you mind pointing me in the direction of your bathroom?'

Having been shown the way to the downstairs toilet, Hermione shut the door and locked it. Slumping against the wall she began to wonder why on earth she was about to run away from a party she'd been invited to. Ah yes. The boredom. Quickly she pulled her wand from her waistband and disapparated into the Weasley's back garden.

Outside the wind nipped at her skin like pin pricks, making her huddle in to her clothing. All around her were bits of turf that had yet to be assembled into an actual garden. Beings crept beneath the surface, giving the small patch of ground an eerie feel. Yet it was the cold that bothered her the most. The robe had had to be sacrificed for the greater good, so all she had between her and the elements was her dress. It was weather like this that reminded her she should have dressed for all occasions, rather than to impress. Slowly goose pimples were gathering on her arms. The soft rustle of the wind moving the leaves made her feel on edge. Night time was never a happy place for Hermione.

'Sorry it took me so long,' Fred's voice broke the silence of the moonlight. 'We'd better scram before they start wondering where we are. Heaven forbid Katie should find us together! She might set Elliot on me and woe, what would become of me?'

That was always something that Hermione found most attractive about Fred. He had this ability to make her smile even when the situation wasn't that funny. Ordinarily she'd be fretting about upsetting her hosts, who would find her leaving rude and insensitive. With Fred around though she could see the funny side. Neither of them had particularly wanted to be there and it united them in a common cause. Escape.

'I never thought I'd be asking you this,' Fred said with a half smile. His collar was turned up at one end, making him look handsomely squiffy, and Hermione itched to correct it. 'Your place or mine?'

'I'd say mine is probably safer,' she said without even thinking. 'I don't think your brother would dare look there.'

Fred smiled at her broadly. 'Your place it is!'

Something fluttered in the depths of her stomach. She was about to have Fred Weasley in her flat. Maybe saying that hadn't been such a bright idea. Was her house even clean enough for company? The place where she lived was about to contaminated with his scent, his fingerprints, his hair, his…

'Come on then!' He said impatiently, holding out a hand to her. 'I'm freezing my bollocks off here!'

Yep, she thought. They'd also be there.

****

xXx

'Where have you been?'

Draco wasn't at home with being concerned. It was normally something he left to other people, but on occasion he found it difficult to avoid. Such occasions were as follows; being unable to find a favourite piece of clothing, finding out that some evidence had been tampered with, discovering that Ginny is not yet home at midnight. Being uncertain of her whereabouts sent him into a world of worry. His line of job created a kind of fatalism towards the worst possible out come. Any change in habit meant something was wrong. This was something he certainly didn't want.

'Sorry Dad,' Ginny slurred sarcastically. 'I wasn't aware there was a curfew on my own home!'

'You're drunk,' Draco stated, looking her up and down a couple of times. 'Not only is your speech impended but you appear to have toilet paper hanging out from your trousers. Also there is sick in your hair.'

'Well done Inspector,' Ginny said defiantly, as she tugged the toilet paper out of her waistband and tried to make it look like she'd known it was there all along. 'I'm allowed to get sloshed if I like. It's my…my…what's that word?'

'Civil liberty?'

'That's the one! If I want to get pissed then I can! People have died so I have the right to get rat-arsed and vomit in my own hair. Blood has been spilt so I can…' Ginny continued to protest as she waved her arms around in the air.

'I get the picture. I'm sure millions of people haven't sacrificed their lives for you to get drunk, vomit in your hair and make a fool of yourself,' he drawled. 'Go to bed and sleep it off.'

Three hours Draco had been waiting in the kitchen for Ginny to come home. Three hours of worrying whether he should go out and look for her, but knowing she wouldn't appreciate it if he did. It hadn't mattered that all he wanted to know before he slept was that she was okay. He had put her feelings first in the knowledge that she didn't want her boss checking up on her out of hours. Yet every five minutes that'd passed he'd silently promised that if she wasn't back in that five minutes he would go find her.

'Why are you always so mean to me?' she whined scraping her hair back with a hand. 'All you ever do is tell me what to do and I'm tired of it! I'm not your slave!'

'I'm your boss and it's my job to tell you what to do. Now I'm in no mood to rationalise with a drunkard on anything. Go to bed.'

His eyes were killing from the strain of staying awake, and his head throbbed from sleep deprivation. All he wanted now was to go to bed, safe in the knowledge that everything was alright in the world. Well…maybe not the entire world. His own would suffice and at that point in time it meant making sure Ginny didn't leave the house again until morning.

'What are you doing up at this time anyway?! You can't lecture me at coming home at…'

'Two in the morning.'

'Yeah, when you're still in the kitchen looking at…at…at…porn!'

A sigh escaped his lips. Why did women have to be so difficult? Couldn't she see that he had been waiting for her to come home? Why on earth was he, Draco Malfoy, even bothering with such an ungrateful wench? She'd made it clear earlier, when he'd let his attraction get the better of him, that she wasn't interested and yet all he wanted to do was make her life easier. Somewhere along the way he'd forgotten about himself.

'Weasley, I'm reading the Wizarding Financial Times.'

'Yeah right!' Ginny walked across the kitchen waving an unsteady finger at him. 'It's pink! Answer that one, aye.'

Closing his eyes for a second, Draco took a deep breath. He'd been trying to remain calm. Trying to be her friend rather than the man who desperately wanted to kiss her every second of every day. He didn't want to be passionate and heated. All he wanted was for her to leave him alone before he really got angry with her.

'Firstly, well done on recognising a colour,' he clapped his hands tauntingly. 'Secondly, I can't answer a question you haven't asked.'

Ginny looked confused for a second before eyeing him suspiciously. 'There was something I was supposed to tell you…Let me think…'

'Don't. You'll hurt yourself.'

'I went somewhere…and…'

Draco eased himself off the kitchen chair and walked over to where she was stood. Grabbing her by the wrist he dragged her towards the door. He'd expected her to put up a fight, but instead she followed him looking slightly confused and trying not to fall over her own feet. Having made it to the door he managed to get her into the bathroom. Turning on the light, he turned to see the damage.

'Look at me,' he said coldly, grabbing her chin with his free hand and making her meet his eyes. 'We're going to start at the beginning and work out whether it's safe for you to sleep yet. Alright?'

Ginny nodded, a frown still creasing her forehead.

'Firstly where have you been?' Draco asked softly. He released her chin and started running water into the bath. 'Bar, pub, nightclub, friend?'

'Friend…' she whispered.

'Muggle or Wizard alcohol?' he kept his voice even, too tired to even attempt being indifferent.

'Muggle…'

Keeping hold of her wrist, Draco leant down and put the plug in place. He checked the temperature of the water and stood again to face Ginny. 'Right well I'm guessing you've had quite a bit. How many times have you been sick?'

Looking at her hand Ginny looked thoughtful. 'You want to sleep with me.'

Draco was silent for a moment. 'How many times have you been sick?'

'Once.'

'Good,' he said, trying to give her a reassuring smile. 'Did you mix your drinks?'

'I…There was something I had to tell you…' she looked up at him with her large brown eyes. He could feel parts of him thawing with that one look. All the anger at having been forced to feel so concerned seemed to evaporate for the time being. He resolved to be nice for a change; after all she wouldn't remember it in the morning.

He let go of her wrist and reached up to touch her hair. It wasn't the first time she'd been ill today and it was most likely the situation at Azkaban had made her need to take an escape route. Often he'd find himself with a bottle of whiskey trying desperately to forget what refused to leave him. Not that it ever helped in the long term.

Ginny's hair had always been something that had fascinated him. It was a colour he associated with hatred - he'd been able to spot a Weasley a mile off - and blood, two things he feared the most. Yet, when it such close proximity with her, all this was forgotten. It was now the colour of passion - not singular but varying in places and bold to the touch. He had imagined it to be feather soft and silky, now though it was greasy and stuck together.

'I'm going to wash this out of your hair before you go to sleep,' he murmured softly. 'Okay?'

'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'I tried not to be an idiot…'

Tears were gathering in her eyes and she seemed to be unable to work out what was happening completely. Moving his hand across, he brushed the tear from her eye. 'It's alright. We all get drunk and puke up occasionally. You've had a bad day…I'm the one who should be sorry.'

'No,' she reached for his hand and held it in her own, rubbing her fingers over his knuckles gently. 'No.'

Reaching down Draco turned off the taps. He wasn't used to this…bonding. It was all a bit too surreal for him to comprehend. Not only was he apologising for something he felt he hadn't done, but Ginny seemed to be soothing him. Wasn't she the one who had got herself plastered and needed him to make sure she was alright? When had the roles turned?

As he turned to face her again, he realised that washing her hair was not going to be so easy. Maybe he should have just dunked her head in the sink and had done with it. He scratched his head and pursed his lips. The best idea would be to strip her down to her underwear and dunk her in. However that would mean seeing Ginny mostly naked. Drunk or not this was all too welcoming a sight. It would be like abusing the trust between them. Well this was going to be tricky.

Slowly he placed both of his hands at the button to her robe and undid it. His fingers were steady and determined not to make his actions appear like they had another motive, as he pushed the robes off her shoulders. All the while she watched him, her eyes dark and knowing. Next he had to undo her shirt. Starting at the top, he slowly unbuttoned one at a time until he reached the bottom. Taking a deep breath he moved his hands up her body and gently pushed it off her shoulders and down her arms, until it dropped to the floor.

Her skin was pale in the flickering light of the bathroom, seeming to glow with a hidden warmth. Freckles were scattered across her abdomen, chest and arms like a fine layer of sand. The tiny curve of her waist and the swell of her breasts made her seem all the more feminine to Draco. All that covered her was a simple black bra. She was enchanting and yet he could not bring himself to look at her. A goddess too pure to gaze upon by a mere mortal. Turning his head away, he looked out the window to the dirty night. Even though he wasn't looking at her, he was aware she was watching him and moving closer. So close he was finding it hard to breath. Then suddenly he felt her arms around his waist, the weight of her body pressing against him and the tickle of her hair at his neck, where her head was now cradled.

'Ginny,' he breathed gently. 'I can't…'

She was moving away now, looking up at him with those large eyes, but it wasn't far enough make him feel safe. Her hands cautiously rose and she mimicked him, unbuttoning his shirt one at a time. He could feel her skin through the widening gap as she laboured over undressing him. It was chilled and yet made him warm all over. All his senses seemed to jump as she ran her hands up his abdomen and aggressively removed the offending shirt. With this barrier now gone he could see her eyeing his flesh and felt conscious of how wrong this really was.

'Take off your trousers and climb into the bath,' he instructed her in a hoarse voice, grabbing her hands to ensure he was the one in control. 'The sooner we get this out of your hair, the sooner you can sleep.'

'I don't want to sleep,' she stated slowly.

'Well I do,' Draco said as firmly as he could muster. 'You're always telling me how much I need my beauty sleep.'

'Why are you doing this?' she asked moving forward. 'I know this is what you want.'

'Is this what you want?' he asked, anger beginning to rise at his own confusion. He shook her roughly. 'To have a quick shag with me in the bathroom, whilst you're drunk? For me to take advantage of you? Because if that's what you want…'

'Ouch,' she pulled away from him, rubbing her arms.

'I'm…' he closed his eyes and let out a breath.

Draco could feel himself getting more and more wound up as Ginny continued to stand in his presence. It had been a bad idea to allow himself to be… He didn't know who he was being. Perhaps it was the man he wanted to be when she was around - the kind of man she went for. As it was he was Draco Malfoy and because of that he could never allow himself to be someone else. It wasn't in his nature to be caring. It wasn't in his nature to even care. There was no point in changing a habit of a life time.

'You're drunk. I like my women to remember when they're having the best,' he arrogantly tossed back. 'So as far as this is concerned, no. I don't want you anymore.'

The hurt on her face made Draco want to take it back. All he wanted to do was to stop for one second and comfort her. Just to hold her would be enough. No, he thought, it would never be enough. He'd not only just ruined their friendship, but also any chance of him having what he wanted. Ginny was off limits. She was a taboo.

It was then that he noticed something. Her body was beginning to sway slightly, and she was clutching her stomach with both hands. Stepping forward to stop her from falling, he steadied her and sat her down on the edge of the bath. 'Are you alright?'

'I have something to tell you…' Ginny said with a pained expression on her face. 'I was at Blaise's. That's where I was. And I told him what happened. We got pissed. I was sick on his desk…'

'This can wait until later,' Draco said tightly. He should have known Blaise was involved in getting her into this state. 'I think we'll have to leave your hair for now.'

He looked around and found an elastic band on the side of the bath. Grabbing it, he started to sweep her hair up onto the top of her head. When he'd managed to fist it all into one hand he tied it. Then he slipped one arm around her back and the other under her knees and lifted her.

'You will have to say sorry in the morning,' she said softly. 'For rejecting me, making me feel like dirt and being overly nice. Oh and for being an arrogant pig who thinks he can have any woman he wants.'

'And will you forgive me?'

'Depends.'

'On?'

'Whether or not I remember any of what happened.'

****

xXx


	8. Chapter Seven: Sex

****

Dictionary

Sex _noun _**1. **group of males or females collectively **2.** fact of belonging to either group **3. **sexual instincts, desires, activity, etc. **sex appeal/sex life/sex symbol**

Chapter Seven

'Don't take this the wrong way but you look like crap.'

'How on earth can I take "you look crap" in any other way!'

Blaise laughed as he watched Ginny subconsciously push at the wrinkles in her crumpled skirt, pull her hand through her hair and glance at her reflection in the window. It was funny the way people became so defensive when they knew the truth of the matter. For them it was alright to think they looked awful, but heaven forbid anyone else should pass comment on their appearance. In these instances it wasn't a matter of feeling a bit rough; they were being an individual, making a stand against the conventions of traditional dress sense and fashion obsessed fascists. Given the opportunity though Ginny would have leapt at the chance of some clean clothes and a long bath.

'Maybe if you kept an House Elf then you wouldn't have to wear clothes that have been lying at the bottom of your laundry basket for three weeks,' Blaise remarked as he folded up the newspaper he'd been reading. 'Then again there's no saying that you still wouldn't look like you'd been dragged through an hedge backwards. You obviously can't handle your liquor well.'

'I can hold my liquor just fine thank you.' Ginny moved across the room and dropped a pile of papers on Draco's desk meaningfully. 'I'm just a little…'

'Hungover?'

'Tired actually,' she said tightly, obviously trying to avoid losing her temper. 'I didn't sleep very well last night.'

Blaise couldn't help but feel that this might be an understatement. Often Ginny complained of restless nights and accounted them to having had a traumatic experience whilst at Hogwarts. She claimed that she hardly ever dreamt and when she did they were nightmares. Suddenly she'd be the scared little girl caught up in something so dark that it made her skin crawl at the thought of it. Ginny had never divulged the actual event that had robbed her of sweet dreams but Blaise could imagine that it was probably pretty horrific. After all she had spent time with Harry Potter and his consorts; that boy had attracted danger like no other person Blaise had ever met. Then again his awful floppy hair was probably enough to give even a saint an uneasy night.

Nightmares had always been something he could relate to. Ever since the war he'd been haunted by the smell of rotting flesh, the coppery taste of blood and the unbridled hatred inflicted upon complete strangers. In death both sides had seemed so alike. What was it the Muggle's believed? All flesh is grass. That was true enough, he reflected bringing to mind the scenes of mass slaughter. It had been hard to separate the friend from the foe and the earth from the dead. Shaking his head he tried to stop the thoughts breaking through his barrier of resolve. Azkaban hadn't helped.

'Where's Draco this morning?' Ginny asked suddenly, in a voice that suggested she'd been wanting to ask the question for some time. 'Shouldn't he be here for the review of the case?'

'I believe he has another, more pressing, engagement.'

Ginny crossed her arms, bit her lip in thought and frowned as she gazed at the pile of papers she'd just deposited. 'What could be more pressing than deciding on whether or not a girl is innocent of murder? Then again what more should I expect? He's seen this case as simple right from the beginning with no thought as to whether the girl did the crime or not! There could be a murderer out there! Does Draco even realise that people are relying on him to find the culprit? He's a conceited pig!'

Blaise frowned slightly. 'Are we angry at the murderer or Malfoy?'

'I just can't believe he's not here to close the case,' she said with a sad look towards the door. 'I thought he might care more.'

'About the case or about you?' Blaise said with a sly grin. 'It sounds to me like you two haven't made up after your lover's tiff yesterday.'

Ginny gave an indignant huff and stalked over to her desk. 'You have the maturity of a three year old. I don't know why I even bother trying to have an adult conversation with you.'

'Despite that, however, you still ended up on my doorstep last night.'

As he spoke the office door opened and Cho Chang serenely walked into the room without invitation. Her long black hair swung low on her back and she was sporting a tight black dress that flattered her lithe figure. Blaise observed that she was wearing a confident smile that suggested she was in control of the whole situation. That was one thing he enjoyed about the company of Cho; she knew what she wanted and how to get it without breaking a sweat. She was also brutally honest and was worth having on your side in and argument. Oh and she had a killer right hook if he recalled rightly. He'd sworn then that it was the last time he got involved with dominant women. Especially those who preferred the company of their own sex.

'Blaise. Ginny,' Cho greeted softly.

'What do we owe to this pleasure?' Blaise asked as he swung his feet up onto his desk. 'I sincerely hope you haven't the notion to ask us to do some work for you.'

'Oh Blaise,' she said with a smirk to rival his own. 'You are a caution.'

Blaise nodded his head in recognition to the truth of that statement. 'I pride myself on it.'

Ginny rolled her eyes in the customary way she did when she was growing impatient with Blaise's tendency for flirtatious banter. 'Ignore him. Is there anything I can help you with?'

'Actually I was hoping that I might get a chance to speak with Malfoy,' Cho said, turning her attention to Ginny with a polite smile. 'Is he in?'

'He's busy at the moment,' Blaise provided before Ginny could even open her mouth. 'Unfortunately he has pressing matters outside the Ministry. He won't be back in the office until tomorrow.'

'Even then I think you might find it difficult to catch him at a spare moment,' Ginny cut in with a glare aimed at Blaise. 'He's got a review in the morning, a court case in the afternoon and an interview with The Prophet towards the end of the day.'

'My, aren't we informed?' Cho purred gently. 'Anyone would think you were his secretary rather than an investigator.'

As much as Blaise enjoyed Cho's company, he couldn't help feeling protective over Ginny. Unlike him, she had spent little time with Cho and was unaccustomed to her way of speaking her mind. Although she probably didn't seek to cause Ginny offence, it was easy to translate her remark as an insult rather than a comment on Ginny's ability to recall Draco's timetable. Already he could see a blush rising on Ginny's cheeks as humiliation at being called a glorified secretary began to set in. Knowing Ginny he knew that this would probably be followed by an angry outburst that would make her appear even more foolish than usual.

Before Blaise could diffuse the situation Cho opened her mouth and spoke. 'Can I make an appointment?'

Ginny's mouth dropped opened. 'Excuse me?'

'I assume that I need to make an appointment in order to speak to Malfoy. After all he is dreadfully busy what with one thing and another. Maybe he could squeeze me in between the court case and the interview? It is fairly important.'

A laugh escaped Blaise's lips as he watched the scene unfolding. The question was whether he should let them get into an argument or quickly change the topic? On one hand it'd amuse him endlessly to see a girly fight ensue in the office. On the other, Malfoy would kill him if he found out that Blaise had knowingly allowed a dispute to occur without pulling things to a halt. Oh it was a tough choice.

'I'm not Malfoy's secretary,' Ginny said with a hint of menace. 'If you want to make an appointment with him then talk to Blaise. I have work to do.'

Good old Ginny could be relied on to do the sensible thing, Blaise thought with an affectionate smile. Already she had her head buried in a book on criminology. He turned his attention back to Cho and saw that she was looking at him expectantly. 'I think he can probably - what was it you said? - _squeeze _you in somewhere. Why don't you leave it with me? I'll contact you tomorrow morning with the details.'

Cho arched her eyebrows at Blaise's innuendo. 'I'll expect you early,' she said before leaving the office, closing the door behind her.

'I hate that woman!' Ginny screeched after a couple of minutes of silence had passed. 'I mean, do I look like Malfoy's bloody secretary!'

'Now, now Weasley. We both know your more than that to Malfoy.'

'Why is it that you cannot accept that a man and a woman can be friends without sex getting in the way! You and Malfoy are both as bad as each other!'

'Meaning?'

'Only yesterday was he suggesting that you and I were more than just friends! Now you're saying that Malfoy and I are involved! I'm really getting sick of it,' she said slamming her book down on the desk. 'Why can't I just be on my own? There's nothing wrong with being single, you know.'

Interesting, Blaise thought to himself. Ever since Ginny had joined the office he had acknowledged that he found her attractive. It wasn't just that she had a great figure, although that definitely had something to do with it. She had a knack of making him feel like he meant something. With most women he approached them as a predator. There was little substance to any relationship he had with them and they never lasted very long. With Ginny though it wasn't about sex. It was about wanting something he'd never wanted before; romance, friendship, companionship and love. However he also knew that his whole heart wasn't into it. He loved his lifestyle too much to try and seduce his friend.

Malfoy on the other hand did have his whole heart in it, or at least that's what Blaise suspected. He was the kind of man who took no joy from meaningless relationships. Sex was sex, nothing flowery or deep. At least Blaise pretended that there was more to his encounters, but Malfoy treated it as a function that needed servicing occasionally. That wasn't to say that he didn't enjoy the act; it just wasn't about enjoying it with his partner. However Malfoy was very possessive over Ginny which suggested that, like Blaise, the attraction was not merely about sex. It was probably the constant battling that made her different from the other women who approached Malfoy.

'You know what you told me last night…about Draco?' she asked softly, breaking the silence in the room.

'I'm surprised you remember anything I said about him,' Blaise said with a snort. 'You were completely off your face at the time.'

She glared at him, taking the defensive again even though she couldn't deny his point. 'Well, I do remember that particular part.'

'I only told you that because you asked. It isn't exactly public knowledge.'

'I know,' she said sternly. 'It's just I didn't think he was capable of that kind of thing.'

Blaise sighed and fiddled with a pencil lying on his desk. How had he got himself into this mess? When Ginny had turned up, confused about what had happened at home and needing someone to talk to, he had invited her in with open arms. Mostly he'd been curious about what Malfoy had said. Having known him for a long time, he'd never known him to be so unrestrained. In the old days he would not have merely suggested that they were intimate, he would have demanded it. These days though it was highly unlikely that he would even reveal anything personal about himself. Malfoy had developed certain traits from his days as an interrogator which he had been unable to drop. For one his face remained closed at all times. It had taken Blaise a while to get used to the cold, sneering features.

'It was a time of war. Extraordinary times call for equal deeds. We all did things which we would never have normally done,' his voice was thoughtful as he spoke. 'Last night… I was just warning you about what you were dealing with. He's a very dangerous man and sometimes I think you forget that.'

'You're dangerous too.'

'True. Although I would like to think I have the edge on Malfoy, I fear that I might not.' A smile pulled at his lips and he snorted gently. 'Don't let him know that I said that though. I'd never hear the end of it.'

'I won't,' she said gently. 'I don't understand why he hasn't told me himself though.'

'He was an interrogator. The people he dealt with were vicious killers. Telling your employee that you've tortured hundreds of people in the name of democracy isn't exactly trivial. I only told you because I believe that you have a right to know…'

Already he was beginning to regret having told Ginny about Malfoy's violent past. The drink had been flowing and she'd seemed so distraught over something so silly as her reaction to a proposition. He'd felt sorry for her confusion. Soon she was asking how well Blaise knew Draco and whether he thought Draco had meant it when he had suggested he wanted Ginny sexually. Of course he could believe it! Who wouldn't? Putting it into perspective had meant telling Ginny the truth. Malfoy rarely allowed emotion to rule him because he'd had extensive training. He was verbal water torture not a gushing river of passion.

Malfoy was going to kill him. Literally.

'There's something else…I think I might have upset him. It's just normally I get up at seven, I put the radio on and I make breakfast. While I'm doing that Draco uses the bathroom and then we swap and go to work. This morning I wasn't feeling too great, for obvious reasons, so getting up was a bit of a strain. I can't even remember how I got to bed in the first place… Anyway I eventually made it to the kitchen to find that he had gone. He doesn't usually leave that early,' as she spoke she was toying with her sleeve, her eyes fixed on a stain on her desk. 'I just have the feeling that I might have done something last night.'

'Ask him,' Blaise said simply. 'He's not going to lie to you.'

'What if I said something I wasn't supposed to know? I mean, where is he?'

'He had other matters to deal with,' Blaise said firmly. 'You know he's often needed by other departments.'

'So you don't think he's avoiding me because of what happened yesterday?' she said with arched eyebrows.

'Since when has Malfoy been one to shy away from confrontation? He'd probably have loved to flaunt your humiliation at his advances. You're forgetting he's a complete bastard.'

Ginny put her head on the desk and let out a howl of distress. It was quite endearing the way she couldn't contain any emotion, he thought to himself. She was the complete opposite to Draco in that she was an open book. She took almost every emotion to the extreme. Sometimes she was happy and other times she was angry. "Fine" was not a word she would even consider using.

'What's the worse that could have happened?' Blaise asked with a large gesture.

Ginny looked up from the surface of her desk and glared at him. 'Sex.'

****

xXx

'Let me get this straight. You don't believe in having a one true love?'

'Think about it rationally. If there was such a thing as one true love then we wouldn't have an attraction to lots of different people. People fall in and out of love all the time, so it can hardly exist? We live in a country with growing levels of divorce and remarriage, it makes sense that we should share the love. So to speak.'

Hermione smiled slightly as she watched Fred talk. 'That's a very cynical thing to say. I mean, look at your parents. They're still together and seemingly mad about one another.'

'Yeah,' Fred conceded. 'They are happy. I'm not saying there's no such thing as love, but if anything happened to Mum or Dad I would hope they could find new love and move on. If one true love existed then it would be a life of misery once you lost your partner!'

A yawn caught Hermione off guard and she looked at her watch. 'You realise we've been talking for five hours now? It's three in the morning!'

Fred turned and frowned at the clock. 'So it is. Am I keeping you up?'

'Yes!' she laughed. 'Whatever will Mrs Dempsey say when I stroll in looking like death warmed up?'

'Oh I reckon she'll probably berate you severely. Maybe put you over her knee and smack you with a good book,' he grinned to himself. 'Either that or she'll lecture you on the need for a good night's sleep. She'll probably assume you're living some sort of debauched lifestyle.'

Since running away from the party Fred and Hermione had been sitting on her couch discussing life, the universe and everything. They'd talked about their shops, their families, their dislike of sea food and finally the conversation had turned to love. At first Hermione had felt uncomfortable with the situation; she'd perched on the edge of the couch, smoothing out her dress and fiddling with her hair self-consciously. As the hours ticked by though she'd found herself relaxing into the swing of things. She'd kicked off her pinching shoes, tucked her legs under her and leant back into the fluffy pillows lining the couch. Fred on the other hand had seemed instantly at home, putting his feet up on her coffee table and reclining in a lazy manner. It had felt so natural for them to be this at ease with one another. For once Hermione felt comfortable in her own skin and no longer worried about keeping up appearances.

'I don't think anyone would believe that I had a debauched lifestyle,' she replied twirling a strand of hair around her finger. 'Everyone tends to think I'm a saint. You don't see many saints partying into the early hours of the morning and waking up with a different man in their bed each morning.'

'You don't!' Fred touched his chest slightly and looked offended. 'Next you'll be telling me that you do other things like reading or, dare I say it, knitting.'

'I am partial to a bit of knitting occasionally but that's pushing the boat out a bit,' she laughed softly. 'Normally I just stick to the reading.'

'That explains the reason you have a book shop then,' he concluded with a sweeping hand gesture. 'Though that book you were reading the other day was a little bit racy for my taste. Saints shouldn't read Erica Erotica.'

Hermione could feel a blush spreading across her face. She'd managed to forget her foolishness when confronted with Fred at the book shop. It had been mortifying to let the man she lusted after see her in such a state of embarrassment. She never had dealt with humiliation well.

'Well, as Mrs Dempsey said, I was testing it out for the shop,' she said in the most dignified voice she could summon. 'Obviously that isn't my kind of book.'

Fred gave her a disbelieving look. 'You and I both know that that is a fib Miss Granger. A giant fib. A fib so big it has it's own chain of supermarkets and seven wives each in a different house. In a different country to one another.'

'Okay, okay. Maybe I do enjoy an occasional dip into the Erica Erotica range. But hardly ever. Only a couple of times in fact because they aren't exactly intellectual reading…' she babbled helplessly.

'It's alright!' Fred laughed. 'I'm teasing you. You're a big girl now so you can read what you like.'

'Sometimes I get the feeling that you see me as the girl I was at school,' she said softly as she picked at a stray bit of fluff on the cushion she was cuddling. 'I'm not that person. I'm not that innocent.'

Fred patted her leg reassuringly sending a flutter to her stomach. She hated it when he made physical contact with her because it meant she had to pretend it didn't affect her in the way it did. It all happened like it does in the books. First would come the butterflies, then the jelly legs and finally the disintegration of her ability to speak. Again it all led to embarrassment, humiliation and mortification. Fancying Fred really took a lot out of her; it was enough to make her wonder why she even bothered. It wasn't as if he was ever going to suddenly realise he was madly in love with her.

Suddenly his hand was on hers and she looked up to find his face looking quizzical. 'Penny for your thoughts?'

'Oh really, they're very boring. You wouldn't be interested,' she said dismissively. 'Anyway we were talking about your parents.'

'No, we were talking about you,' he chuckled to himself and his hand retreated from her. 'So don't change the subject. You were about to tell me how you weren't as innocent as we all think you are.'

'I really don't think I was…' she said tightly.

'How naughty are we talking?' Fred asked with a wide grin. 'Bondage? Multiple partners? Kinky underwear? Or just full blown sex? I want all the details.'

'Oh come on…' she said putting her hands up in a defensive manner.

'When was the last time you had sex?'

'What!' she was definitely bright red now.

'You heard me Miss Granger. When was the last time you had sex?' he turned to face her, crossing his legs and leaning in ready to listen. 'Tell Uncle Fred.'

'I'm not answering that question,' she said in a defiant tone. 'It's just not…proper.'

'Okay, I'll tell you when I last had sex and then you'll have to tell me. We'll trade information on one another,' he said with a suggestive raise of one eyebrow. 'I last had sex nine days ago. You?'

Hermione's eyes grew wide. 'Nine days ago! Who with?'

'I thought we were trading information. Just tell me.'

Okay, she thought, how do I tell him it's been thirteen months without sounding desperate? It had been about that long since her and Neville had split up and she had been loathe to get involved with another man whilst she was busy building herself a business. Plus there had been the fact that she'd been lusting after Fred. At the back of her mind there had always been the vain hope that he would reciprocate her feelings. Her over active imagination often took over and she found that reality didn't really meet up to any of her expectations. She'd become so set on dreaming about Fred that she couldn't even consider finding herself a new partner…unless it was Fred of course.

That was the problem with dreams. It was alright when they were surreal and bounced off the walls of her imagination. Sometimes she dreamed that she lived in a shoe box with a giraffe called Jeremy who enjoyed golf. Of course this wasn't surreal to some witches but to her it went against her Muggle upbringing. Then there were nightmares which terrified her out of sleep. Sometimes she would wake up and the face of Voldemort would still be hanging about her head. Her screams would echo off the walls, irritating the neighbours and scaring the cat. Finally there were the dreams that seemed real. She hated it when she dreamt about an ordinary day, but instead of being single and lonely she had Fred as her boyfriend. The wedding dreams were worse still. It was so frustrating to wake up and be alone again.

'You'll only laugh,' she said finally rising from the couch and padding over to the kitchen. As everything was open plan she was unable to hide from Fred unless she went to the loo, and that would be too obvious. 'Would you like some cocoa?'

He followed her lead and went to the kitchen counter where she was placing clean mugs on the surface. 'I promise I won't laugh.'

Opening the kitchen drawer Hermione pulled her wand out. She'd found that this was the most convenient place to leave it when she didn't need it. After the battle with Voldemort she'd taken to sleeping with it under her pillow, but waking up as a gerbil more than twice and accidentally hexing Ron had led her to believe that this wasn't a wise idea. Then she'd tried to find somewhere not too obvious to leave it in case she was attacked at home. So the kitchen drawer had been the best place. Twirling it in her fingers she silently conjured up two mugs full of steaming cocoa. She didn't have outstanding grades in every subject for no reason.

'Would it be easier if I took a guess?' he asked as she offered him a mug.

'If you really feel it's necessary.'

Fred took a tentative sip and nodded slightly. 'Let us see… It's been about a year since you dated dreary Neville. We'll assume you consummated the relationship with him, although I shudder to think of why any sane woman would do that. Therefore if you have had sex with anyone else it hasn't been a partner. However I can't see you being the kind of woman who would have promiscuous sex without there being some kind of emotional connection. Like most women you're looking for a partner, not a mate. With this in mind I can conclude that it must have been a year. This would explain your reticence to divulge the length of time and why you read Erica Erotica. Am I right?'

The first feeling that flooded her system was outrage. How dare he assume so much! It didn't matter that it was true. As a woman she did not want men to take one look at her and see a desperate wannabe housewife. She didn't want to be considered as waiting for Mr Right. Well she would be damned if Fred of all people believed she was some sort of celibate - not that there was anything wrong with practising it, she just didn't want him to know.

'You couldn't be more wrong,' she said defiantly.

'Oh really?' Fred said with a sly smile. 'If I'm so wrong then why don't you set the record straight? Or is this a matter of female pride?'

'I don't see why I should have to prove myself. It's my body and I'll do what a want with it!'

'And a very nice body it is.'

Hermione's eyes widened and Fred shuffled uncomfortably on the spot. Was it her imagination or was he looking more than a little bashful? Part of her was grinning with happiness at the thought of what he had said, the other part questioning why he'd said it at all.

'That is to say that you're a fine figure of a woman and you're right. I shouldn't have nosed around in your affairs because it's juvenile,' Fred said trying to regain the banter. 'I was just curious. Sorry.'

Hermione smiled slightly. 'So you think I have a nice body?'

'Well…yes,' he said with a firm nod. 'I think you've got a great figure.'

Suddenly she had an epiphany. Fred wasn't the only one with power. He had already admitted that he had a love of women in general and she was a woman. This meant that she must automatically qualify for something or other in his affections. A thought began to form in her mind. Maybe she was doing everything all wrong when it came to Fred. Maybe the best way to get what she wanted was to make him think she didn't want him. It worked in all the Muggle movies she watched. Then again maybe it was the cocoa talking. She would never know unless she tried…

'If you must know it's been two days.'

Fred choked on his cocoa. 'With who! Father Christmas?'

With a deep breath Hermione tried to control her urge to get angry. 'You and Neville aren't the only one's who think I have a nice body, Fred. It can't be that hard to believe that I have admirers, can it?'

'I find it hard to believe that the Hermione I know would do such a thing without being in a relationship.'

'Maybe there are things about me you don't know,' she said padding back to the couch and throwing herself onto it. Putting her mug on the coffee table she manoeuvred onto her stomach and stretched out along the couch. Gently she rested her head on a cushion and pushed her hair to one side. It had been a long time since she'd felt in any way sexy.

From where she lay she could see Fred was watching her intently. He was leaning against the kitchen counter and the way the light was in the room made him look slightly menacing. She noticed that the first couple of buttons on his shirt were undone, the creases now well pronounced, and his hair was ruffled from running his hand through it. Her heart was racing in her chest but she was determined to remain cool and disengaged - no matter what happened.

'So who was the lucky fellow?' Fred asked pushing away from the counter and walking over to where she lay. 'Or is it a secret affair that no one must ever know about?'

She looked up at him, meeting his gaze with one of her own. 'I don't see why it should matter to you. Unless of course you're jealous?'

Fred smiled to himself. 'What makes you think that?'

'We all want things we can't have,' she whispered, unsure of how to proceed.

'Hmmm,' Fred put his mug down and crouched down so their faces were level. 'So your theory is that I'm jealous of someone you shagged because it's something I haven't done? Therefore I want you because I can't have you?'

Hermione looked away, she couldn't help it. Picking at a loose thread on a cushion cover she ignored the question, hoping he would take the hint and leave it be. She couldn't believe that she'd allowed herself to get into this position! He would probably never speak to her again. What if he told Ron? She would never hear the end of it. Already she could hear his voice: "So you thought you could seduce him? Ha! Good one." Oh he'd find it endlessly amusing.

'Hey,' his voice was soft, 'There's no need to hide that pretty face of yours.'

Slowly she raised her head and looked at him. 'You think I have a pretty face?'

A grin spread across his face. 'You know you're gorgeous. I don't have to think that for it to be true. All you need is a little more confidence. My advice is don't try to play games.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean this,' he said running a finger from her shoulder to the curve of her hip and back again. 'You sprawled out on a couch, taunting me. It's not fair to start something and not follow through.'

'I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about,' she said indignantly, praying that her blush wasn't too obvious. 'It's not my fault you find me attractive.'

'Maybe,' he murmured moving his head so their noses touched. 'Or maybe you find me attractive.'

Licking her lips Hermione tried to think of something, anything, to reply. 'Maybe.'

'Maybe there was no man two nights ago…' he said inching closer to her, his eyes on her mouth. 'Maybe you're just trying to make me jealous so you can have your wicked way with me.'

Hermione frowned and moved her head back. 'And maybe someone is deluding themselves as to their own attractiveness!'

'Hermione, you are going to be the death of me,' Fred sighed and hung his head. Slowly he straightened his legs until he was standing and looked down at her. 'Maybe we should stop skirting around the issue.'

'Which is?'

'That you've wanted me for months now, but don't have the guts to fight for what you want. That you wish I paid you the kind of attention I was just then. That you can't do anything spontaneous. The list is pretty much endless Hermione,' he ran a hand through his hair and swore. 'You're right, I was jealous when you told me about your mystery man. Merlin, you don't even realise how bloody stunning you look tonight! I'd be mad to not want you. The problem is that you won't just let something happen. You're driving me nuts here!'

Jumping to her feet Hermione tried to hold back the tears that were suddenly threatening to break free. How could the situation have turned ugly so quickly? He'd accused her of not fighting for her convictions, being predictable and then had the gall to call her beautiful. She was hurt beyond expression and she couldn't place which part of her hurt the most; her heart or her pride. The sooner he was gone, the sooner she could start forgetting that this had ever happened.

'I think you should probably leave,' she said coldly. 'It's late and I have work tomorrow.'

'See!' he shouted pointing at her. 'This is exactly what I mean! Instead of having this conversation, you'd rather I left!'

'Please go,' she said turning away from him and viciously wiping her eye with the back of her hand.

'Merlin, woman! I'm not trying to have a fight with you,' he grabbed her arm and turned her round. 'I'm just trying to get this off my chest.'

She hung her head and stared at the carpet, blinking back the tears. All she wanted was to be left alone to wallow in her own self-pity. He knew how she felt! He'd always known. She'd embarrassed herself and he had just gone along with it all. How was she ever going to look him in the eye again?

With his free hand Fred chucked her chin so he could see her face. A smile curled the corners of his lips. Quickly he leant forward and pressed his mouth to hers. At first she stood stock still, unable to move at the shock of it all. Fred Weasley was kissing her. He had just shouted at her, made her cry and now he was kissing her. His mouth moved gently against hers and she shivered involuntarily. Her eyes closed. Soon she found that she was returning the kiss tenderly.

It didn't take long for the kiss to become more. His arms circled her waist, pulling her so close she could hardly breath. Her hands had found their way into his hair and she was tugging on it gently remembering how he ran his hands through it when he was thinking. She wasn't entirely sure why this was happening, but it felt good to be this physical after such a long time. Pulling her mouth away, she opened her eyes and looked at him. Fred smiled goofily and brushed some hair away from her face.

'Mother always said actions spoke louder than words,' Hermione whispered with a slight smile, her hand moving down his chest to his belt. 'Is this spontaneous for you?'

'Ron is going to kill me,' he murmured before kissing her again.

****

xXx

Harry Potter was in trouble. Of course he was used to trouble. Well, the kind of trouble that was hell bent on killing him anyway. For Merlin's sake, he'd faced Voldemort and destroyed him! He should know trouble like an old friend, broken in and old. Instead though he found himself beginning to panic. This was a dilemma he was not accustomed to. A problem of the heart some would say. Others would say it was another part of his anatomy he should be worrying about.

Through his life he'd had several girlfriends. Cho had been a mistake obviously, and Luna was right when she suggested he might question his abilities as a man. That was a vain thought though. Cho's sexual preference had nothing to do with their relationship. At least that's what he hoped. Then there had been his passionate affair with Ginny. That though had been short lived with the pressures of the impending war against Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He'd also courted a Quidditch player called Mandy Perkins. It had been a long and sweet relationship, but with work they hardly saw one another and had drifted apart. This was followed by a few more encounters. Every one of his relationships had lasted longer than two months and Harry prided himself on being an old fashioned man. One night stands were not his style. He'd always respected women too much for that.

Now, though, he was not so certain of anything.

It had all begun when he'd seen her in the office, innocently filing away crimes without a second thought. His initial thought had been to question her presence. Was she here to keep tabs on him? Harry's methods of capturing dangerous criminals were antiquated. Having lived through the second coming of evil, Harry had lost his faith in magic. He watched as magic-dependent wizards had fallen due to their trust in it. He'd watched people lose their ability for common sense because they believed they could cure everything with a wave of their wand. So he'd sworn not to let himself be ruled by his wand and to use his head whenever possible. The Ministry however looked upon his methods with great suspicion. They didn't like Muggle methods being integrated into Harry's work. An example of this was the fact that Harry had all his information duplicated and hidden in various Muggle places. He had files in Covent Garden and an oil rig off the coast of Aberdeen. This way he would always have a backup plan.

His suspicions had only grown when it was revealed that this stunning new secretary had a history of duplicity. Dumbledore's Army had suffered when Marietta had betrayed them. In hindsight their revenge had been unfair on a young, impressionable girl. How was she to know the ultimate consequences of her actions? They had scarred her for life. When she'd realised who he was the atmosphere between them had become visibly tense. She'd carried on working, mumbling to herself about being mislead by the Ministry, and he knew that she couldn't have been sent to spy on him. Marietta hadn't even realised who he was before he told her. That was one of the good things about staying out of the press; your enemies didn't recognise you as much as they used to.

Marietta had not backed out on the job however. Harry had been surprised to see that she had more staying power than he'd expected from her. It was almost as if she was trying to prove a point. Every time he came into the office everything was shipshape and clean. The filing cabinets had never been so organised. On a good day she'd have finished all her usual duties by lunchtime. Instead of slacking off she'd take out a file and start memorising faces until the end of the day. They hardly spoke but he appreciated her effort.

Eventually there had come a case which involved the apprehension of a suspected Death Eater who had been terrorising the north east coast of Scotland. Harry had almost forgotten his P.A. as he prepared himself for the capture of Jimmy "Hook" Jingo.

__

'What are you doing?' Marietta's voice was harsh in the silence of the office. 'I only finished tidying that file yesterday.'

Harry glanced up at her from where he was crouched beside the filing cabinet. 'I need the case file on Hook.'

'That's nice,' she said with an edge of sarcasm to her voice. 'Maybe if you asked me instead of wrecking a good two hours work, you'd be able to find it much quicker. After all isn't that what I'm here for?'

'Okay,' he said in a resigned tone. 'Where is the file on Jimmy "Hook" Jingo, please?'

'Third drawer down. Towards the back.'

A frustration he hadn't felt for a long time had swelled up within him. Why did she have to be so bloody difficult? She had spoken to him as if he were incapable of finding one of his own files, in his own office! It was infuriating trying to be polite to a woman who so obviously didn't appreciate it. Maybe that was why he was in the trouble he was in now. Not many people irked him like she did.

__

'So what do you want me to take with me?'

'What?' he replied irritably.

'Mr Potter,' she said in a clipped manner. 'You told me when I started working here that I was expected to attend apprehensions. In fact you stressed the point significantly. Therefore I have prepared myself for such an occurrence, but surely you can't expect me to know everything you're going to require. Therefore I am asking you what you need me to bring.'

Yet again Harry felt like he was being told off like some naughty child. 'Right. The file will suffice, thank you.'

Marietta moved across the room and scooped up the file from his desk. She was wearing a mid-length skirt, knee high boots and a tight blue jumper. Harry viewed her critically, making it evident that he didn't approve in her taste in dress for apprehensions. This was rewarded with a cold glare.

'Would you prefer I went naked?' she asked coolly.

'I'm sure that would be an appropriate distraction,' he answered with equal chill. 'Next time I advise you wear more practical clothing to work. Now are you ready to disapparate?'

Apprehension was not only dangerous but also time consuming. Harry had always found that the worst part of the job was simply waiting. There had been reports that Hook, as he was known throughout the Wizarding world, had been spotted just outside Manchester where his daughter lived. He was a notorious villain so called due to his hooked hand. The myth was that Voldemort had been so jealous of Hook's abilities as a wizard that he'd removed his wand hand in punishment. Of course this had made Hook a very bitter and twisted crook. His biggest skill was killing people with the most harmless charms. They were difficult to trace and he knew it. However sometimes he had to break cover, and this was one of those occasions. Harry knew he'd go back to see his daughter eventually, all he had to do was wait.

Marietta had not been impressed to say the least. Having had his warnings about her choice of clothing ignored, Harry couldn't help but feel smug as she shivered in the cold night air. They were crouched behind a bush doing surveillance on the bungalow Hook's daughter resided in and Marietta's skirt was not sufficient in keeping her warm. Although Harry was reticent to show any signs of humility towards her, he had offered her his coat. She refused stiffly.

__

'No thank you. I'm perfectly fine.'

Harry snorted softly. 'You look it.'

Marietta scowled at him and clutched her files to her chest in an attempt to keep warm. 'How much longer do we have to stay here! Can't you just go in there and bloody arrest him?'

'I should have known you'd have had a better plan,' Harry muttered sarcastically. 'Here's a lesson for you: never fight someone on their ground. They know it better than you and that means they have the upper hand. Out here we have a better chance of capturing him without getting hurt.'

Another half an hour had passed and there had still been no sign of Hook. Harry had begun to grow impatient, looking at his watch every other minute and shuffling about in discomfort. Of course Marietta had taken great delight in watching him squirm, which had wound him up even further. Her close proximity to him was making him nervous. Even though he knew he should be concentrating on the house he couldn't stop thinking about her legs and how they would feel. With each sexual thought he felt ashamed. Barring her physical attributes Marietta was a witch - not literally, but metaphorically. He had the feeling that she would take great pleasure in torturing him. Yet he still couldn't control his wandering mind…

__

'We've been here for almost three hours,' Marietta complained, stretching one slender leg out in front of her. 'I've got a meeting at the Ministry tomorrow morning and I don't want to be tired.'

'What's the meeting about?' Harry asked unable to curb his curiosity. 'Reallocation?'

'No,' she said with a sneer. 'I don't know what it's about. They want to talk about my progress I assume.'

Harry glanced down at the floor and wondered whether they were going to quiz her on his progress. 'Yes well, I feel that bringing Hook in may be slightly more important. After all he is a killer.'

Marietta huffed impatiently and threw the file on the floor. 'You're insufferable.'

'Ditto.'

He had felt her glare burning into him but he didn't care. It was too cold and damp to care about office relationships. Suddenly he had been shaken from his thoughts by a figure moving across the garden and to the front door. Looking to his left he realised that it was Marietta.

Of all the stupid things to do! She had been so impatient that she had gone to get a closer look. He had watched in horror as she'd straightened up her little skirt and boldly knocked on the door. A woman, later identified as Hook's daughter Lucinda, had opened the door with a guarded face. The two women talked and eventually Lucinda had let Marietta into the house. Harry had been furious. How dare she compromise the apprehension like this?

He had worked quickly, stuffing all the files and weapons into the beaten up backpack and shoving them under the roots of the bush he was hiding behind. Delving into his pocket he pulled out a small vial. Harry had taken it upon himself to always carry Polyjuice potion with him for times of emergency. On the bottle was written the name **Sidney Gherkin**. Sidney worked in the telecommunications sect of the Ministry and had been very willing to lend Harry some of his hair. Now Sidney would have to work his magic.

__

Walking across the garden Harry could feel the familiar pounding of his heart against his chest. It was this uncertainty that made the job so thrilling; what made him return even through the bad times. Steeling himself with a deep breath he pounded on the door angrily.

After a couple of seconds the door opened. The same cautious woman stood before him, a quizzical look on her face. Harry adopted his most angry face and pushed past her. 'Where is she! Where's my whore of a wife? I know she's in here!'

Across the small room Marietta was placidly sitting on an overstuffed couch, a Muggle phone in her hand. Harry gave her a stern look, and took charge quickly before she blew his cover. 'I knew it! You've been cheating on me, haven't you?' he said in an angry nasal voice, casting a dubious gaze at Lucinda. 'And with a woman too!'

Lucinda folded her arms across her chest and gave them both a tight look. 'I thought you said your car had broken down?'

Marietta placed the phone down on the stand and rose from her seat. Looking into his eyes she took a firm step towards him. 'I told you I had to come out this way to meet a client, Boris,' she sneered. 'I can't believe you followed me, you ignorant little prick of a man.'

'Well it's a good job I punctured that tyre before you left the house isn't it?' Harry ran a hand through Sidney's long black hair and sniffed his spotty nose. 'I should have trusted mother when she said not to trust attractive young women who want to marry me!'

'Do you want me to call the police?' Lucinda directed at Marietta, obviously believing the scene that was unfolding.

'Stay out of this,' Harry snapped. 'I can't believe you ran off without telling me. When we get home tonight there's going to be hell to pay…'

'Like I would come home with you after you've embarrassed me in front of a complete stranger!' she screamed at him. 'I told you I was tired of waiting around. I needed some action. It isn't my fault your so crap in bed. Call yourself a real man! Ha! Your mother is more masculine then you!'

'Don't bring mother into this,' Harry clenched his fists and shook one at her.

Marietta simply laughed and scooped her bag up from the floor. 'I'm leaving you Boris.'

'You can't…' he grabbed her arm and pulled her flush against his chest. 'I can prove I'm a real man. I'll do anything you want, just come home with me now. Now.'

'Boris, nothing you could do would prove to me you were anything more than an overgrown weed,' Marietta gave him a tight smile and Harry loosened his grip slightly. 'Now let go of me and get out of here before you make even more of a fool of yourself.'

Something about Marietta's scathing manner was breaking through Harry's resolve. Maybe it was the fact that she'd decided to play it out that she hated him, maybe it was the fact that she was questioning his manhood, but something snapped. Suddenly he forgot all about Lucinda and capturing Hook. He wanted to get even with her.

'Marietta,' he murmured in a low warning. 'Don't push me.'

'Or what?'

Harry smiled slightly, bent down and kissed her hard on the mouth. Almost instantly she began to reciprocate, savagely drawing his bottom lip into her mouth and biting gently. It was a battle of a kiss, both struggling to remain dominate and all the while Lucinda watched on with a faint feeling of disgust. Soon Marietta was pulling back forcibly. Getting her balance and her breath, she looked at him furiously, balled up her fist and punched him square in the face. Harry winced as her punch hit home and clutched at his face as she fled from the house.

'Women,' Harry muttered to himself. 'Sorry for…well you know…'

'That's fine,' Lucinda said with a bemused expression. 'I hope not to see either of you again however. If I do I'll be calling the police.'

Harry had taken the hint and left before she lived up to her promise. Although she was a Muggle, she was not stupid and would soon realise that they were both there for a reason. Unfortunately there had been no sign of Hook and with the foolishness of Marietta he would have to abort the stakeout for the night. All that had left was to berate Marietta on her stupid behaviour.

Running out into the garden, Harry had blinked hard to try and adjust to the darkness. Quickly he had retrieved his backpack and looked for Marietta on the road. It hadn't taken him long to find her.

Leant up against a wall Marietta was breathing hard, her breath frozen in the night air. Her hand clutched her stomach and she appeared to be talking to herself angrily. As he approached he could see that she had a murderous look on her face. Well he wasn't going down without a fight.

'What did you think you were doing?' he shouted as he neared her.

'Me! What about you? In which part of my contract does it say you have the right to pretend I'm your unfaithful wife?' she rubbed her forehead and glared at him. 'That kiss was sexual harassment I'll have you know.'

'You put us in danger by going into that house,' Harry said firmly, trying to remain calm and rational. 'It hardly seems relevant that I kissed you. It was a matter of authenticity.'

'Yeah, right,' she muttered. 'If you must know I went in there because I thought it would be more effective then sitting out here freezing our arses off. And I was right. Hook isn't there.'

'And you know this how?'

'Women's intuition.'

'Great. Bloody fantastic.'

Marietta pushed back from the wall and rounded on him. 'Back off Potter or I'll be forced to report you.'

'For what Marietta? Kissing you?'

She gave a nasty smile and prodded him in the chest. 'I know all about your business Potter. I know that the Ministry are very interested in your methods. I'm sure they'd love to hear all about this little fiasco.'

'You wouldn't…' Harry started.

'Oh wouldn't I? We both know that I am perfectly capable of doing so,' she prodded him again and gave a snort of laughter. 'You've brought this upon yourself.'

Grabbing her hand Harry looked at her hard. Roughly he pushed her back against the wall and trapped her with his body. Both remained silent and staring, each taunting the other. Marietta wriggled out of his grasp and shoved him in the chest, but he didn't move. Instead he leant in, pinning her with his weight, and bent to whisper in her ear. 'What do you want from me Marietta?' His hand rested on her hip and he could feel her shudder under his touch. Pushing at the material of her jumper he slid his hand under her clothing, stroking the soft skin gently. 'Marietta,' he whispered again, 'why are you so angry?'

'Harry…' she murmured closing her eyes. He could feel her hands circling his waist and pulling him close. 'Take me home.'

It was needless to say that Harry had a restless night. One request from Marietta and he became putty in her hand. They'd soon made it to Harry's cramped flat. She ripped away his clothing while he kissed her so passionately he was running out of air. Marietta was an impatient lover unable to wait until they reached the bedroom. Once they had finished their love making, they had lain on Harry's wooden floor out of breath and not touching. Harry was cold with sweat as he watched Marietta get up, dress and leave.

Not a word had been spoken between them since.


End file.
